


The Prince Consort, Part V/VI

by Persephone



Series: Willing to Take the Risk [22]
Category: Valentine's Day (2010)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Canon Gay Character, Canon Gay Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-16 05:59:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 35,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14158305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persephone/pseuds/Persephone
Summary: The morning after the publication of the article in TMZ, Holden finally faces a difficult reality.





	1. Chapter 1

Bright sunshine was inside his _head_ for some reason. He didn’t remember Sean’s room being this bright. Certainly not since Sean had installed the new privacy layer on his glass walls after last year’s media circus.

_What the fuck,_ he wondered, raising an arm to block his still closed eyes, and turning toward Sean’s shoulder to hide his face. One thing happened but not the other. Surprised, he lowered his arm and looked to his left to see not Sean but sable colored leather. 

Confused, slowly waking, he was slowly remembering that he was in Sean’s living room, on Sean’s couch, and that the warmth around his body wasn’t Sean but a fucking comforter. 

Sighing, he dropped his head back to the pillow and closed his eyes. Against the horrid sunshine, against so many things. It had been while since he’d had one of these mornings―woken up feeling that he had to tiptoe around the guy inside the bedroom. Though even then, probably none as bad as this one.

Lying very still, already tired, he waited while the actual horrid events of the previous day washed over him. Still partially asleep as he was, he floated on the sensation that maybe it had all been a dream…with the feeling fading as whole sentences from the article read themselves into his ear. Innuendos and outright insults, all doing a waltz through his head. 

_Congratulations,_ he thought to himself. _You’ve successfully overseen your own disgrace._

Craning his head, he sighted the wall clock. Besides being horribly bright, it was also horribly early. One literal minute before 6 a.m. Still he got off the couch and folded away the comforter, and went into the kitchen to start breakfast. This morning he was determined to produce the smoothies Sean liked. Veggies, berries, ginger, things like that. He’d seen Sean put it together enough times to know that it wasn’t rocket science. And not a moment too soon, as minutes into his toil Sean emerged from the bedroom.

Usually at that hour, Sean would be headed for a run or a swim, after which would be breakfast and then dragging _him_ out of bed and into the shower with him. But that morning, though already in a pair of joggers, Sean walked instead toward the dining table, where he’d left his laptop. Waking it, Sean stood there staring into it for long seconds, before closing it and stepping onto the back patio. And there, with sea breezes ruffling his hair, Sean stood looking through his phone. As though alone in his house and nothing bad had happened.

Inside the kitchen, he stared through the sliding doors, unmoving, with no idea what to do.

The old him would have known what to do. Known the exact words to use to trigger Sean and make that anger come roaring out. It would have been painful, unpleasant. But it would have gotten them expressing their thoughts. Fighting their way to a reconciliation that would preclude him having to stand there, in fear of much more frightening things.

But that was the old him, before Johnston, before he’d seen old pictures of a teenage boy with secret hopes in his eyes. He could no longer hurt Sean. Not even to drag them across the line to where they needed to be. He’d caused Sean enough pain.

But where did that leave him? Last night he’d been sure he’d figured it out. Stocked up on what to say. Alone in the dark, he’d turned over argument after argument, planning what to ask. All those things they’d said to each other in Miami, in the past few weeks, hadn’t any of it meant anything? All that resolve and determination Sean had shown to stay on track, even when Joel popped up, where had it all gone?

But that had been last night, alone with his thoughts. Now with Sean staring so intently into his phone, he only wondered whether Sean was reading the article again, about to turn and ask him where exactly he fit between all those names and quotes.

The smell of burning waffles reached him, alerting him that far from gathering himself to talk to Sean, he was just burning breakfast. While he dumped blackened waffles and switching off everything in sight, Sean stepped back into the house, on his way back into the bedroom. And probably out of the house after that.

Dropping everything, he turned to him.

“Sean―”

Sean stopped by the bedroom door and turned a look at him. 

Being the only reaction he’d gotten from him since yesterday, he too stopped, his words dried up. Suddenly glad he’d never found Sean’s look intimidating.

“Sean, talk to me. Tell me―”

“No fucking way, Holden. No fucking way am I talking about it. If I gotta go do this, then let’s just get it over with.”

Sean’s eyes hadn’t moved. Locked on him, waiting for a challenge.

But he had none.

Continuing into the bedroom, Sean disappeared. Reappearing shortly in a T-shirt pulled on haphazardly, sneakers still unlaced, Sean walked back to the sliding doors, and without another look at him, was through them and making his way down the concrete stairs of the patio leading to the beach.

Wordlessly, he looked around the kitchen at the mess he’d made. Blackened waffle flakes all over the place, like remnants of his attempt. Had he been wondering where Sean’s resolve had gone? Well, he needed to stop. Because it was the only reason he was still allowed to be standing there, trying to defend the indefensible.

*


	2. Chapter 2

In black trousers and a shirt the color of butter, Petey at 10 a.m. looked as fresh and as pretty as someone who’d spent the night at a spa. Instead of, no doubt, once more attempting fornication with his sly-eyed, opportunist, not-into-guys boyfriend. Or maybe Petey had seen some success and hence the glow. Were he not in such a worried state, he’d have stealthily sent Craig a snapshot, complete with contextual information and a request for comment. Especially since Petey had upped the ante last night by dropping that he might be in love with Bryan. Complete nonsense of course but...interesting times ahead.

That was the summer he should be having. The one with simple problems like which friend had the milder case of crazy he was supposed to get behind. But Craig and Petey’s drama was the least of his concerns with his own situation threatening to go nuclear.

Because here at last he was, staring in hardcopy at his own, frightening, immediate future. The schedule Petey had promised, covering the remainder of his and Sean’s summer. He felt his chest tightening and his throat closing up, constricting against the feeling that he was in a closed room inhaling smoke.

This was really happening. He was about to let Sean into a room he should have cleaned up long ago and hadn’t. What was he doing? Going along with something so colossally stupid and letting his friends call it brave?

Keeping his thoughts from his eyes, he snuck a look across the table at Petey.

Gracefully installed in a wrought iron chair by the ivy-covered railing, Petey had his legs crossed and a perspiring glass of latte in his hand. Glowing and perfect in every way, without a trace of the anger from the previous evening at his dad’s house. Well, some, in his pretty, patient smile. And not wanting to trigger any more of it lest he be called _an infuriating gringo whore_ again, among the few Spanish phrases he understood for some reason, he’d been quietly listening as Petey had first slid the schedule across the table, then began going over it. Attentively listening, like a hostage listening to a captor.

But now finished, and smiling his patient, obviously pleased with the schedule smile at him, he dropped his gaze. Then, sitting back and glancing at the city spread beneath and around them, he pretended to be thinking.

They were on David Geffen’s balcony, third floor up from Petey’s office and overlooking all of West Hollywood like some kind of guardian angel perch. Geffen, thankfully, wasn’t in, so he was being spared questions. Geffen’s office however, vast through the sliding doors to his left, was one of his favorites places to be. Unlike his own English oak and nineteenth century buttoned leather office, the heritage of his father and grandfather, Geffen’s office was a contrast. Hip and modern like the man himself. Airy and filled with mementos and memorabilia from all the Geffen-defining moments in pop culture from music in the 70s to recently released movies.

While Petey had waved hello from the balcony, he’d stopped to see the newest additions to the private museum, and had been pleasantly surprised to see a helmet Sean had used last year in the NFL. Set on a corner of the big, smoke-black glass desk, the helmet was signed and dated and so had likely come from Kara’s office. Certainly, it hadn’t been among the items auctioned on the NFL sites last winter because he’d own it now. Its presence was that much more touching because its true value, in being the helmet Sean used in his first year out in the NFL, existed only to a small number of people. Geffen acquiring it was a thoughtful tribute, one that might even serve as an icebreaker if and when he got Sean in there for introductions. Something to keep Sean believing after Geffen inevitably said or did something to make Sean question the man’s intentions.

“How’d last night go?” Petey asked as soon as he’d stepped onto the balcony. “Did you guys have amazing sex and get past it?”

“No, Petey.”

“Well, not to worry. We’ve got you now.”

So he’d gotten himself a tall chilled glass from a fridge beneath the shining latte machine, filled it to the brim with ice cold milk and coffee, and sat down to hear his fate.

True to his word, Petey had produced a fantastic schedule. Had turned the rest of their summer into an enviable calendar of dinner and benefits. Unlike last summer, which had been crafted by his parents to parade Sean through Bel Air to assure friends and neighbors, not to mention themselves, that Sean wasn’t whatever they feared professional football players to be—although that ending with Darren might have set them back a few votes—this summer’s purposed was completely different. This time, it was about him and Sean and their other community, the LGBTQ one. A space where they were meant to be comfortable. Knowing that, Petey had shrewdly set all of their venues decidedly south of Sunset Boulevard.

It was a simply enough idea, no different than what Petey had been trying to get across at the Thurgood Dinner. That he and Sean establish themselves securely in philanthropy. For Cecelia, it was important that they commit to consistency in the arena in order to preserve his family’s legacy of giving. Fine by him. And for Geffen it was along the same lines, though located fully in a continuing support of their community as a next generation patron couple. An especially pleasing goal, Petey added, if no other reason than it would set Sean apart from his “previous associations.” And here Petey paused and sipped his latte, presumably letting his words soak in. Well, at least this time Petey was sparing his feelings, in not labeling those previous associations “the jerk parade.”

He’d been halfheartedly lifting the pages while Petey spoke, without the stomach to look much closer. He’d seen a lot of monthly calendar printouts. But it was obviously a great schedule. Simply and nicely complied, with events that should have been second nature to him. Who loved a party with lots of new people to meet more than he did. Easy as breathing. Except that he was inhaling smoke, as if from a massive, as yet unseen fire.

Staring across the city’s sunlight, reflecting off too many things like too many hidden memories, he was thinking about the nature of love. About the types of things it could truly withstand.

“TMZ called me, by the way,” Petey said, making him bring his gaze back to the balcony. “Message at reception. They wanted a comment on your behalf regarding the article.”

“Don’t they have their timing backwards?” he asked.

Sitting forward, he pulled the schedule toward him. There were several listings for “entertainment venues,” a.k.a. bars and lounges, and he wanted a closer look at those. Slowly, he turned the pages.

“You know they’ll milk it for as long as they can,” Petey said. “Also why doing this,” Petey nodded at the schedule, “is necessary asap. God, Holden, sometimes I can’t believe just how entitled your exes are. Was it the one from business school who gave them the dish? The one who confessed undying love to you in the damn men’s room? What a witch.”

_Apparently, he’s not alone..._

Their bar and lounge spends, meaning drinks and dinner, were to be donated to individual, smaller or local LGBTQ charities. That was nice. They had many friends and acquaintances who ran their own small outfits. Sean would like that as well. But... he was also gauging the type of night he might expect at each of those venues, whether he’d need to build a fort around Sean or something. But so far so good... until around two weeks into the calendar when his eyes hit on one venue and he froze, dread blowing up inside him like a giant inflated elephant now sitting with them on the balcony.

Closing his eyes for a second, he simply prayed that when he opened them again, the listing would be gone.

“Why is Blake’s here?” he asked softly.

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

He was now looking at Petey.

“Holden, we can’t leave it out. Aside from the insult it would be to Tim and Yellen, you couldn’t possibly claim to have brought Sean fully into your life and not take him to Blake’s.”

“Let’s not do this,” he said stiffly.

“Holden...”

“I’ll talk to Tim and Yellen. There’s no point in taking Sean there. It’s not his scene and— it’s not mine anymore. I haven’t even been there in—” but he faltered, remembering that he had in fact recently been, just last year in fact, when after Sean’s coming out he’d tried one last time to walk away. Walked straight into Blake’s wanting a hard shove of reality to push him out of his emotional whirlpool. It hadn’t worked.

“I promise I’ll deal with this, Petey,” he said, indicating the schedule. “I’ll deal everything on here. Let’s just leave Blake’s out of it.”

“Holden, you’ll be fine,” Petey gently said. “Sean loves you. Just be brave.”

“I am. I _will_ be. I’m just— saying there’s no point.”

Petey smiled and shook his head.

He turned away. “Christ, Petey.”

“I know, babe. But we have you covered.”

“Okay, so now I’m gonna have to ask how. How am I covered by taking him to Blake’s? He’ll— he’ll have no context for it.”

“You could tell him.”

“I don’t want to tell him. Okay, let’s say we—” and he stopped, composed himself, barely even able to say it. “Let’s say we take him to Blake’s. For Tim and Yellen’s sakes.” And somehow Sean didn’t permanently close the door on him that night. “How’re we gonna stop anyone from walking up to him and saying whatever they like? You saw Lachlan at the Thurgood dinner. He’d have been ten times worse at Blake’s.”

Petey looked surprised. “Who’s gonna do that? Stop guys from walking up to you and Sean? That’s not our job.”

Equally surprised, he paused for a moment. “Then what is?”

Petey looked at him like he was joking for even asking. “Holden, you know what we can and will do on your behalf. But don’t ask anyone to try and block reality. That’s been your misstep from the beginning. Take Sean to Blake’s. Show your exes you have nothing to hide.”

But Petey didn’t understand. In the bubble in which they lived, none of his friends did. He lowered his eyes to the now terrifying schedule. He couldn’t do this.

Petey reached across the table and clutched his hand. “Isn’t this what love and commitment are all about? Being honest and sticking it out? You’ve come _so far_ with him, Holden. I never imagined I’d ever see you like this, that in an entire year you’d only be with just _one guy._ ”

He looked up in consternation. “I’m in love with him, Petey.”

Petey appeared to skip a beat, and then his expression melted. And then Petey leaned forward and gathered him into a soft, warm hug, breaths hot against his neck, as if they’d just made a breakthrough in therapy. Petey then sat back, pressing a hand to his throat and seeming short of words, his smile pouring even more warmth on him.

“You’re offended I said that,” Petey said. “You have no idea how beautiful that is. Two years ago you would have thought that a death sentence. It’s amazing how far you’ve come, Holden. You just keep remembering that and you’ll do fine.”

He looked at schedule again. Sometimes he really did feel like he’d wandered into a surrealist movie with his friends.

Something else had caught his eye though, a notation in red under “Transportation,” and pointing to it, he asked why it said that the Geffen Foundation would be providing transport for Sean to all venues.

“Won’t I be taking him?”

“No,” Petey said, delicately. “Elliot’ll take you, and we’ll be taking Sean.” And at his completely blank look, continued, “We’re not taking a chance that rather than bringing Sean, you’ll spirit him away and no one’ll see the two of you again until he retires from the NFL.”

As Petey’s words registered, he could hardly believe his ears.

“But if we’re sending cars, why not send Redmond, since Sean already knows him?”

“Redmond, your getaway driver all these years? Redmond who’s been to all your graduations and gets teary eyed when you so much as cross the street to buy toothpaste, like you just redefined the rules of doing business. Your grandpa Redmond? No. Redmond’ll do whatever you tell him, including hiding Sean away instead of bringing him. It’s not open for discussion. That part is in red because it’s final.”

“Wait, so lemme get this straight.” His frustration was rising despite him knowing better. “You’re gonna have Sean picked up in a strange car, have him sit in the back with a stranger— no offense, Petey, but that’s you as far as Sean is concerned— then have him driven like that into town and strange bars? That’s gonna happen?”

While he had been speaking, Petey’s bronze complexion had been burnishing a deep reddish, like he’d been sitting in the sun too long. And Petey had stopped looking at him and was staring across the cityscape, a distressed look on his face. And now Petey cast him a worried look. But when he spoke it was firmly. And with a darkening undertone that had nothing to do with his blush.

“That’s right, Holden, that’s exactly what’s going to happen. Never mind that I just told you last night at your dad’s why you should be ashamed to bring your failures. Whose fault is it that he’s a stranger to me? You really did expect me to introduce myself to him at your wedding, didn’t you? Like some desperate, random backstage pass holder. You don’t think that’s monstrous?”

Petey looked hurt and embarrassed and his voice had become very quiet. And he did feel like a monster. Because in spite of the liquid furies, sometimes upsetting Petey could feel like squeezing a bunny too hard.

“That’s not what I meant at all, Petey. I just—” Self-preservation still panted in him like a big hungry labrador. “I just wanted to… you know, spare you some needless stress.”

Petey blinked several times at him. And too late, he realized he’d stepped over the line. Petey’s eyes narrowed at him.

“Needless stress, Holden?”

He rolled his lips, already seeing all the better ways he could have said that.

“Let me tell you about needless stress.” Without pausing, Petey sat forward a bit. “Needless stress is those _jerks_ you have a hard-on for that _I’ve_ had to deal with all these years. Have you _any idea_ how many phone calls I’ve received from guys you were dating _demanding_ to be put on my boss’s guest lists? Wanting suites on his boat when _you_ can’t even cope a night? Calling _for everything,_ from entry into Elton’s Oscar party _in February_ to the fucking Getty Dinner _in November._ That’s the entire year, if you’re keeping track. All to which I had to find ways to diplomatically say no because my boss wouldn’t permit me being rude to your harem. Yeah, needless stress. Who needs that!”

He’d let his hand slide from the notation and brought it back to his lap, maintaining a contrite look.

“Why do I even bother?” Petey asked. “With any of this. Honestly.”

“Because I need you,” he said repentantly. And…well, because it was actually Petey’s job. “I need you and I’m sorry. I really am. This is…” Resisting the urge to glance again at the schedule, not wanting Petey to also start feeling that his work output was the issue, when it wasn’t, he instead took a breath. “This is just...very weird for me,” he finished quietly.

“Of course it is, Holden. It’s weird for us too. Being in love has made you certifiable. Do you know how disconcerting that is to me? It’s like I don’t even know you anymore.”

Which, surely had to be an exaggeration.

“But we’re all doing our best to carry the weight of this low achiever version of you,” Petey went on. “And all you have to do is work with us. You know we can handle this. But do better, Holden.”

And he nodded, hearing the truthful assessment, but still not knowing how to. Things were moving too fast and it was just too nerve wracking. 

“Just get yourself ready and be at Ten on Thursday. I’m tweeting it. Start closing out your scarlet past and start making room for your golden-haired future.”

“Y-you’re _tweeting_ that?”

In the motion of raising his glass, Petey stopped, his _you’ve lost your mind, Holden_ expression threatening to become permanent. “No. I meant—”

“Right. Right. You meant— about Ten.”

“Yes.”

He lowered his eyes to his iced latte. The drink had separated itself into milk and coffee, the condensation around it now a pool a grown person could drown in.

“Hi, handsome,” Petey suddenly, cheerfully said, and he glanced over to see Elliot stepping onto the balcony. “Thank you for joining us.”

“Thanks for having me.”

Stopped at the latte machine, Elliot briefly glanced at him as he extracted his glass. Placing it beneath the spout, Elliot pushed the big silver button before resting his hip against the railing, from there sparing him a longer look. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He didn’t say anything, only returning his gaze to the schedule. His feelings in turmoil, he was no less frustrated about Elliot’s role in the last couple of days.

“So how’d it go?” Elliot asked. “Was he totally in sync with your panic and willing to give up his chance at being Michelle Obama to all your exes?”

“I can’t even with you.”

“Aw,” Petey said. “No fighting you two. I can get upset all I want at Holden but it pains me when you two fight.”

“Yeah,” he couldn’t help saying. “And no more bright ideas.”

“Oh,” Elliot said drolly, picking up his filled glass and joining them at the table. “Was intervention different in Iowa? Better?”

“As a matter of fact it was.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t. I’m sure it was just as messy.”

“And you know that how?”

“Because it’s still you two? Because when he left town it was pretty suddenly? And because even though you were doing your best at keeping up appearances, you didn’t even know he’d been to a gay club with his bestie until the internet told you?” Elliot took a sip of his latte, eyed him. “Shall I continue?”

Refusing to dwell on the flashes of holy hell that had been his own attempt at intervening in Sean’s anger, he quietly said, “It was still better than this.”

“How exactly, Holden?” Petey asked, sounding genuinely curious.

When he couldn’t reply, Petey caught his eyes and gave him a small, sweet smile. “You’re a mess, Holden.”

Then setting his set his empty glass on the table, Petey stood up. “You two need to kiss and make up. We’re into elimination rounds now and all need to be on the same side. Meantime, I have to run. If the schedule’s all right, Holden, go ahead and put your signature on it, beneath a thank-you note please, and leave it on David’s desk. Text me when you do.” Then kissing his forefinger twice, Petey waved it at them, before quickly disappearing from the balcony.

—

Slowly, quiet had returned to the balcony.

Elliot was trailing his fingers down his wet glass. On a morning so cool, bright and breezy, they should have been enjoying LA’s perfect weather. Instead he was wondering whether, for Sean, this was one of those very-long-run mornings. The type he’d witnessed Sean taking over the years, usually after one of his sudden disappearances or unprovoked breakups, sitting on Sean’s patio and watching him disappear into the distance, pretending he didn’t know why.

Elliot lifted his glass and emptied it. Like it was a tumbler of whiskey or something. Then, getting up, Elliot returned to the machine for a refill. Elliot seemed relaxed, his head tipping as the glass filled. But he could see his stress. Elliot was his best friend for a reason, and it was pointless staying angry at him. And vice versa.

Returning, Elliot sat and sipped his latte, licking his lips. 

“Thanks for checking in on me,” he quietly said.

Elliot waved a hand. But after a moment, said, “So how _did_ it go?”

“He won’t discuss it. Just says he’ll do it.”

“Just like that?”

“No, it sure wasn’t.”

Elliot wiped his glass, saying nothing, while his sat still untouched, now about as appealing as his new summer itinerary. 

“You’re doing the right thing, H.”

“I guess we’ll see.”

“Has he told you what happened before? What got him so sensitized?”

“Well, seeing as I’m about to get a guided tour, what would be the point?”

“You should try and talk to him, before all this gets started. I think it would help.”

“He doesn’t want to say. And why should he? People get married all the time without having to browse their partner’s former life. That’s not normal. This isn’t normal.”

“Life is different for everyone.”

“Gee, Elliot.”

But Elliot had started getting that look of putting pieces together. A look which had spelled doom for so many of his shadier, boy-crazy college and grad school schemes. Were it not for Elliot, his dad would have probably had lots more cleanup to do than he’d already had.

Right now though, he just knew he was in for a deposition.

“So you couldn’t talk to him in Miami?” Elliot asked. “That would have been the perfect setting, away from all of this.”

He fell silent, sitting there pretending he wasn’t blushing.

“Ahh,” Elliot said. “The dirty sex blush. If even Craig is seeing it, you know it’s as plain as day.”

About to ask what and when, he remembered what apparently everyone was seeing now. Inexplicably, it only made him blush harder.

“Oh, snap,” Elliot said, all silky tones. “You know I keep telling you that if you were a true friend, there’d be video.”

Which only made him blush harder. And now Elliot’s expression turned almost wondrous. Which after two decades of friendship, to him just looked stupid. 

He told him so. 

Elliot ignored him. “You, of all people,” he said wondrously. “Fall in love with him. A player in love with a player hater. You can’t tell me God isn’t into drama.” Elliot slowly shook his head. “You should have never smiled at him, H. You know you turn on your America’s Sweetheart smile and all the wrong things happen.”

“Oh, like you know.”

And Elliot really didn’t. Hadn’t it been the other way round? Wasn’t he the one who with a single smile and eye contact from Sean had plunged right into something he knew he shouldn’t? Chasing a man he knew wasn’t like the others?

But how could Elliot know, when in four years he’d told him next to nothing.

Sounds from LA traffic rose faintly from the streets below. Bringing to his notice how quiet Elliot had become. And when he glanced over, how serious.

He pulled his attention from Elliot a couple of time. But ultimately he returned to watching him.

“What?” he finally asked.

“What did you mean last night when you said you’d done some bad things, things that if he found out might make you lose him?”

Completely startled, he stared at Elliot.

In a million years he would have never expected to hear those words coming from Elliot. He hadn’t realized just how distraught he’d been last night, so afraid to face Sean in the wake of an article which from nowhere had caught up with him. So distraught he’d actually voiced those words.

Why the hell did people say that talking about your problems made you feel better?

“I don’t know why I said that,” he said.

Seeing him doing all he could to not look at him, Elliot only said, “I’m sure you don’t.”

But the pieces had been found. Pieces that were now being collated, rearranged, and clicked into place in Elliot’s mind.

“You know,” Elliot said. “You never told me how it was between you two all those years. I know you never would have told him right away that you two were in a long term, exclusive relationship or anything like that. I mean, he must have known you were seeing other men when you weren’t with him. So... how’d he get his wires so crossed? Where’s all this possessiveness coming from?”

“He’s not possessive.”

“He is that, Holden.”

“Whatever,” he said evasively. 

But Elliot was in legal eagle mode.

“You didn’t cheat on him,” Elliot said firmly, seeking confirmation.

“I told you, no. I’ve never cheated on anyone in my life. Why would I, when I could just break up? That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Or, wait. Did you give him an _impression_ that it _was_ somehow unique? Like sticking with him for more than a couple months that first time? With him being in the closet, were you guys in some kind of...bubble?” Elliot leaned slightly forward. “Did you fall in love with him? I mean immediately. Is that what happened? And then, what? You spent the next three years playing games with him? Is that why he’s so pissed off?”

Slightly, he just shook his head, avoiding Elliot’s eyes, wanting to give him the impression he didn’t know what he was talking about.

“And what _was_ he doing while you were breaking up and getting back with him? That couldn’t have made any sense to him.” And at his silence, “Holden.”

“I’ve only ever been with one partner at a time,” he said. “You know that.”

“But it’s not what I’m asking. At all.”

“And he broke up with me a few times,” he said weakly. “It wasn’t just me breaking us up.” Although it had been him precipitating it each time. Intentionally, so calculatedly... 

And unasked, the memories came, of July each year, when it was time for Sean to return to San Diego. They’d always parted on good terms. He’d made sure of that. No matter what had happened, he’d gone up to Malibu, bringing dinner, flowers, making love to him. Kissing him until Sean would let the words out, tell him how much he loved him, how much he’d miss him. And there he would be, feeling good that he hadn’t left him upset, miserable. He’d return to Westwood feeling self-congratulatory. Pleased with himself.

Having dodged guilt.

Flicking his eyes at Elliot, he briefly met his gaze. “I can’t have this conversation,” he said truthfully. 

But Elliot’s look of concern only worsened, and he indicated the schedule.

“You’ve run out of time, H.”

He nodded, so conscious of the fact, he felt sick.

He wanted, needed to manage the coming weeks one thing at a time. He couldn’t change the past but he could protect both their present and future. He could do it, but only if he were careful.

“He and I did… we did start up again in Miami.”

“You mean you rekindled your jock-master kink action.”

He gave Elliot a slow look. “I thought we were calling it the pursuit of intimacy.”

“I came up with that? Damn, I’m smarter than I thought.”

He took a deep breath, lowering his head, and Elliot picked up his glass for a refill.

But he was still thinking about Miami. About Sean’s very surprising behavior that morning after. He was seeing a basic truth starting to show itself, like what was left after fluff was blown away. And scarily, it had all to do with just a word: Trust. 

The trust Sean held that he completely loved him. That despite all their bumps, his past was permanently behind them. Trust that they knew, and understood, each other, and that that was all that mattered.

So what was he about to do with Sean’s trust?

Elliot returned and sat down. Hesitantly, he looked at him. But Elliot was done trying to see into his head, now only waiting for whenever he found the courage to tell his story.

And today was certainly not that day.

“When I...asked you last year about getting closer to him, I’d... naturally reached a place where things I felt for him were trying to break free. I needed to let go, of how I saw myself, of even how I thought of him, so that I could reach the next stage with him. And I did let go.” He paused, thinking. “I actually remember the night it all came together, when it felt as if for the first time, I was telling him I loved him.”

Then he stopped, interrupted by realization. That _had_ been the first time he’d told Sean he loved him.

He said the words each morning when he hugged him, each moment he felt him melting for him like no one else ever had, at night when they fell asleep together, making love even when they were lying perfectly still.

But before that night in Kansas City, the words had never left his head.

It seemed insane now, but he remembered fully well the very intentional choice not to vocalize his feelings. How rational it had felt. How not saying the words felt like safeguarding a way out. As if he could say _I never told you I loved you_ and the magic words would throw open an exit whenever he needed it.

Sitting forward, he slowly held his head. What a fuckup he had been. So many things he had to atone for. 

“What I didn’t realize,” he continued, forcing himself. “Is that intimacy is a two-way street. It sounds so cliched and obvious, but believe me there’s nothing obvious about it.” 

Elliot snorted softly, as if to say he couldn’t argue with him there, but didn’t interrupt. 

“I was supposed to be the one learning to be intimate with a partner. Because he’d already given me so much, right? What more could he possibly have to give? What more could I ask of him? But there’s a difference between so much and _everything,_ and Elliot— _everything_ is terrifying. _Everything_ crosses a line you can’t later undraw.”

He lowered his hands and looked at the schedule, with the red transportation notation seemingly floating off the bonded paper.

“That’s what we’re about to do here. We’re about to cross a line I can’t bring him back from. And Elliot, I’m saying I’m not ready for any of this.” He shook his head, slowly. “He’s not ready to see any of it. We won’t survive it.”

“But this is who you are, Holden. This person on this schedule. And he should see that. It’s all part of the intimacy you’re sharing with him. I know it doesn’t look like that on the surface, but it is.”

“It’s not though. And— and even if it is, I’m not this person anymore.”

“Maybe, but even if you could cheat, skip all of this somehow, I wouldn’t advise it. You don’t want things trickling out in online article. Better he see it now and with you at his side for needed context. And Holden, it’ll go fast. Before you know, it’ll be June and you’ll be married. He’ll be back playing football, and all of this will be ancient history.”

“If he goes back to training camp carrying the types of things he was hiding last year, Elliot, I won’t have to worry about being in a troubled relationship. I’ll be dealing with a troubled marriage.”

Elliot said nothing, looked as worried as he felt, but shook his head.

“There’s no running from this.”

He looked at the schedule.

Yes, he was beginning to see that.

—

At the bottom of the schedule, he scribbled a thank-you note, including that he liked the helmet, signed and left it on Geffen’s desk. Finally leaving the office amid the nods and smiles of Geffen’s two dowager secretaries—apparently Geffen’s blanket approval of pretty twenty-something men didn’t extend to them handling his business affairs—he entered the elevator and sent Petey a text that he was all done.

_Thnx xoxo!_ Petey immediately replied. _And don’t forget to talk to Mr. C!_

*

In Craig’s office that afternoon, Craig informed him that his dad had called and asked that he take Sean out to breakfast. That if he could do it before the summer publicity began, he’d be very grateful. Craig was saying he agreed and was he up for joining them?

They’d just concluded a late afternoon senior staff meeting, and he was borrowing Craig’s desk to complete some annotations before returning to his office. Craig was seated on the desk next to the keyboard, staring down at him as he spoke, and was now waiting for an answer. Whereas he was wishing he’d heard none of it.

About querying what exactly his dad thought might be accomplished by such an outing, he simply gave up. Instead he glanced up at Craig, also wondering why his joining them was even a question.

“Okay,” Craig said, seeing his look. “But give me some time alone with him first before you come.”

“What for?”

“You know what for.”

“Craig, I don’t care if it looks like I’m shielding him, when I am in fact shielding him.”

“But you don’t want that. Your exes already smell blood in the water.”

“Who cares? Wherever he goes, I’m go. Leaving him by himself was never part of anything we discussed.”

Instead of replying, Craig was staring his serene gaze down at him, making him feel like his own common sense was pushing back.

“Craig...”

“He’ll be fine with me. Just give it an hour or so and then drop by for dessert.”

It was good strategy. They both knew it.

“Also,” Craig continued, since he was no longer protesting. “You should know that Cecelia called me this morning saying she’s planning one or two get-togethers for us like she used to. She says she wants to make sure the four of us are on the same page going into your wedding. Petey’s already said yes. I told her I’d let you know. I don’t know about Elliot.”

No longer able to focus, he pushed the keyboard away and sat back. And looking up at Craig, he said nothing for a while, wanting to take his time and get right everything he had to say. 

“This is bullshit,” he finally said.

“I know.”

“You know what she’s planning, right?”

Craig nodded. “And chances are, she’ll succeed. If she invites any of your ex-boyfriends whom she feels she can control better than Sean, and I can think of a couple right off not even including Darren, the moment they see that she doesn’t hold Sean in any regard, you’ll be up a creek. _Sean’ll_ be up a creek. If marriage is the end game, every last one of them will gladly sign any prenup Cecelia presents them, unread.”

“And the insane is, she really believes I’d select someone on that criteria.”

Craig shrugged. “In your world, it’s good sense.”

Yeah, and as her son, he had spent his entire life showing that good sense. Handling his private life like a file in a private investigator’s office.

“And while your dad may really like Sean, bear in mind that for now Sean’s a portfolio that hasn’t been market-tested. He merely looks good on paper. And while Alastair is clearly hoping for a winner...”

He nodded, finishing the thought, “Right now my dad is still evaluating.”

He turned, staring out at the relentless afternoon sunshine across the city, muted by mesh blinds. And marveled at how his carefully protected, formerly low-key life had become a publicity side show.

“How was the meeting this morning, by the way?”

“Well,” he said softly. “Petey has Blake’s on the schedule.” When it elicited no response, he glanced back at Craig. “What do you think?”

Craig lifted a shoulder. “After the dressing down he gave you at your dad’s the other night, I’d do what he says.”

“No you wouldn’t.”

Craig smiled.

“He feels it’s specifically necessary,” he said, pushing.

“Then it probably is.”

“Would you do it?” he pressed. “Take him to Blake’s? Knowing it’s not in his personality.”

Craig didn’t answer. But Craig wouldn’t, because it wasn’t his problem to solve.

Turning back to the cityscape, he said nothing. The glass walls, they’d been told, were so executives could always look out and see the big picture. Look far, see far, get some perspective. But right now all he was seeing was the certainty that he was approaching none of this correctly. After that morning he’d been imagining what his relationship with Sean might look like in a month, and it wasn’t calming his hurting heart. But with the schedule locked, and now his parents’ calls to his friends, the board was set. The time for rebellion and denial was past. Everyone was ready to play, and he would never forgive himself if he didn’t get into the game.

And he did have one move to play. Having given Petey’s advice due consideration. He did need to talk to Craig, because in spite of his protests, he knew what his friends—his LA family—were capable of accomplishing.

He glanced up to find Craig watching him, waiting, and lowered his gaze to the darkening display. “I have a favor to ask.”

Craig was quiet.

“And I’m asking because I know you can be objective through anything. Christ. I used to be that way. But Craig, being in love is... it’s like...” He stopped, glancing up again self-consciously. “I can’t describe it. Actual insanity would make more sense.”

Craig smiled, but listened.

“Six months from now, I’ll have perfect clarity. I’ll see my mistakes and know what I should and shouldn’t have done. But…right now I can’t see to the other side of this. I know that for my exes, this is just a game. One that I’ll admit before now was…exciting. I mean, I don’t have to tell you. But… he’s so different from us, Craig, and I know there are things I should be saying to him now, things I’ll regret not having said before he sees or hears things he may not understand.” Paused, he shook his head. “But for the life of me, I can’t think of a single one.”

The display blinked off, gone into sleep mode. An option that should be available for certain situations in life, it occurred to him. Sleep mode until a problem could properly be dealt with.

“I need someone to look after him for the next few weeks, and I’m asking you to do it. I don’t care how upset he gets, how hurt, what he sees or hears, or how hard he pushes back. And he can— he’s really good at pushing back. But whatever happens, please just hold on to him for me. Please don’t let him…lose faith in me.”

How he’d managed to say it around his aching heart, he’d never know. And there were so many more things he wanted to add, wanted badly for Craig to understand, but which eluded him in words. But he just explained as best he could.

“If he does lose faith in me, he’ll walk away again. It’s his way of coping, I get that. But it… tends to have the opposite effect on me.”

Craig’s eyes on him were observant. “You never cheated on him?” he asked quietly.

“Not once.”

The corner of Craig’s mouth pulled a little, ironically. “Not our style, is it?”

But he was no longer looking at Craig, nor at the display, just ever grateful that when it came to this, Craig always understood. Not their style to cheat. No, he guessed not. Not one of the million ways to break a lover’s heart.

The office suddenly, slowly illuminated, the sun coming out from behind clouds. Shine a light into dark corners, right?

But Craig still hadn’t given him an answer, and looking up at him, he found him staring at the floor between his own knees. There was something on Craig’s mind.

“You know, for the longest time we thought it was the pilot,” Craig began.

“The pilot,” he repeated, disbelief softening his voice.

“Because he fit the pattern. Periods of you disappearing from everywhere for weeks at a time. We thought it would be while he was in town. Until Elliot spoke with him on the phone, and then we crossed him off. He was just one of the usuals. Petey guessed it was someone famous and in the closet. Of course he’d know. But Holden, even after we knew, we didn’t add it up to years. And definitely not three. And I’m sure you know why.”

Sure. Sure he knew why.

But it had been three. A little over, in fact.

Strands of memory were escaping, swimming up. And he remembered all of it, of course. Every unbelievably warm night, every perfect day. Every shy smile, every heart-melting phone call. Every single voicemail he had brazenly left Sean…and his silences in between. Silences that had generated texts that would pile up, unanswered. Then the insecure, nervous voice messages sent straight to his voicemail. _I’m sorry, I’m sorry to call. I know you said… I sent you a text, did you get it… Holden please call me when you can. I miss you so much… I’m going crazy…_ And every time he would simply clear his messages, his notifications. He had a very good memory and could remember each time. Where he had been. Whom he had been with.

He wanted to close his eyes against the pain that accompanied those memories. Memories he’d been so sure he’d left behind.

Petey might yell at him and Elliot try to reason with him, but Craig could talk to him in the language they both understood. Craig who was connected to the side of him that was his daily driver—pragmatism, expediency—and who could guess all too well what he had been doing to Sean all those years.

“You know Tyler Kerkorian,” Craig asked. “From your neck of the woods?”

He couldn’t help rolling his eyes.

“Last summer he told me a story his dad had told him. You and Sean apparently had a fight after someone’s cocktail party and afterward Sean pulled you into a guest toilet in your dad’s house. That everyone could tell what was happening in there and it wasn’t you two engaged in conversation. I thought, no way. I’d never even seen you do more than smile politely when guys would get too excited hearing your name at parties and would come sit in your lap. I couldn’t imagine you letting any man, in any situation, pull you into a toilet. Much less at your father’s house. It seemed even crazier that it was Sean Jackson. Remember, he’d just come out, and while you two were engaged by then, we still had no idea how long you’d even known him.”

Craig was staring at the floor, as thoughtful as he’d ever seen him.

“I had no idea what to say to Tyler. I couldn’t defend you. I could barely even get you to return my calls most of that period.”

Ashamed, he looked away and nodded, in simple acknowledgment.

“Elliot kept saying to let you be, that you’d let us in when you were comfortable. But that was just him making excuses for you. Elliot loves you too much sometimes.”

“I’m sorry, Craig.”

“It’s okay. It really is. Look, Petey was right last night in saying you kept us in the dark far too long. But ultimately that’s not really the problem, otherwise all would have been resolved there and then. The problem is that Sean _is_ different from us. It’s obvious the moment you meet him. And the problem _also_ is that I’ve believed Tyler’s story for a while now. Long before Elliot started taking any of it seriously. So Holden, I do know how fucked you are.”

Craig looked at him. And when it seemed like he was going to continue talking, Craig didn’t. It seemed he was searching for something better to say than what he’d initially intended.

“This isn’t going to be easy,” Craig finally said, making him nod repeatedly in agreement. “But you’ve been willing to change for him.”

“I _have_ changed for him.”

“So listen.”

And he did, wanting to hug Craig for always being himself, for still being here when their paths were diverging so dramatically.

“The most important thing I’ve seen in the past year is how Sean feels about you. As far as I’m concerned, Sean doesn’t have to prove a thing to anyone. Not to your parents, and certainly not to any guy you’ve ever dated. How does a famous NFL quarterback come out of the closet except that he’s found something more powerful than any amount of bigotry or public pressure? I think with you he sees a future that makes perfect sense to him. One that lets him stay in his profession while the shit just slides off. Yet…” Craig looked at him, his thoughts seemingly at a place that made sense to him as well. “Faced with the reality that you might have once wanted… _other things_ more than you wanted him, he’s about to fall to pieces. And Holden, he doesn’t even know half the story. I think you both deserve better than that.”

He didn’t. But Sean did.

“So I will make you that promise, Holden. I promise you no matter what happens in the next few weeks, Sean’ll be here waiting for you.”

“Thank you, Craig,” he said hoarsely. 

“You’re welcome.”

And then he was almost too afraid to ask, but finding courage, he asked anyway.

“Any ideas how you’ll do it?”

Craig gave him a small smile.

His heart skipped.

“Go easy on him, please?”

“He’s a big boy. He can handle a few things.”

So he just nodded, and Craig slipped off the desk, telling him he had some things to oversee and that he’d see him later.

The door closed and he took a breath. It had been a good call. Craig would hold down his side of it. He always did. 

He sat there staring at the hazy light beaming into the office. It _was_ very bright. Since waking up that morning. But he was starting to feel that the light seemingly brightening around him was revealing a figure, and it was none other than himself. 

So the board was now set. Nothing left to do but to start playing. So for the next few weeks he’d sit, stand and smile by Sean’s side, have drinks, attend dinners, and continue being by his side until the whole thing became normal for everyone. Until the questions ran out. Until everyone from his previous life would see that where they and he were concerned, the end had truly come.

Would it be easy? No. But as long Sean still let him into his house, they’d survive what he’d once been. Even if Sean cancelled their wedding it wouldn’t matter. He would go see him in San Diego, and on the road, and they would slowly, painstakingly, mend their relationship. He would make sure of it. The only thing that mattered was that Sean chose to remain with him and he could spend as many years as it took proving that he deserved his love.

In the meantime he needed to relax. Take the time before this started to get himself together, and give Sean the space to do the same. This was intimacy version two. Another side of himself that Sean might not love, but needed to see. And ultimately, there was nothing wrong with that.

*

By closing time he still hadn’t heard from Sean and his resolve to allow him some space vanished. By the time he left at seven, he could think of little else but how good it would feel if Sean took him in his arms, nuzzled him while swaying to some schmaltzy love song. And telling him all was forgiven. So after work he went home to Malibu. Sean’s Navigator wasn’t anywhere in sight, and neither was the SUV with Sean’s bodyguards, but he parked anyway. 

And at Sean’s door he entered Sean’s code…only for the pad to flash red.

He stared at it, frozen.

Sean had changed his door code.

His heart had slipped from his chest and was somewhere around his knees. No way. God, please, there was no way.

Clamping down on his five-alarm panic, he made a second, slower attempt, shaking slightly, but obviously entering the code correctly this time, as a green flash quietly unlocked the door.

Closing his eyes, making his racing heart slow down, he told himself to get a grip and quietly took the handle.

Inside, he went into the bedroom, determined to do everything else right as well

By the time Sean returned a long hour later, he was in the kitchen serving up the dinner he’d had delivered from Spago. Sean walked into the living room, stopping while still out of sight. In the silence, he could tell Sean was taking in the dimmed lighting, the white dahlias he’d stuck in some candle holders—which the shopkeeper had assured him symbolized commitment and devotion—and the scented candles he’d lit in others. There were also flowers and lights on the patio, tea lights twinkling against the distant shore lights alone Malibu’s coast. It looked good enough to have been set up by Sean himself. Who now came through the living room, dropping keys somewhere.

On seeing Sean again, he realized he was still embarrassed by the article. Still vividly seeing the seemingly endless quotes. The especially the ones about his parents not liking Sean. And the cutting remark that he might still be available for takers. 

How could lies and such nonsense have so much power?

Sean glanced at him in the kitchen, throwing maybe the tiniest second look of all time but still not stopping his beeline into the bedroom. Some time later, ears sharpened, he heard the shower going and just sighed. The food would have to go into the oven. And he’d have to deploy his backup plan.

Sean’s slight double take had been for the Chargers T-shirt he was wearing, the dark blue one with the gold lightning bolt on the front and Sean’s number on the back. The one Sean had once told him that when he wore it, he was only missing a little nutmeg to make him edible. Still tasty looking enough to deserve a second look, evidently. Which was promising. And he’d showered and scrubbed and tousled his hair and done everything else he remembered drove Sean’s self-control off a cliff. So he was ready and merely had to go knock, and hope that the entire package was enough to buy him a few seconds for Sean to see how sorry he was before Sean slammed the door in his face.

Forty-five minutes later, the shower stopped and he knocked.

And Sean was ready for him.

The door opened with Sean standing in the doorway. Hair wet, lashes wet, beard wet, chest hair wet, all the way down to his toes wet. His body gleaming… and encased in a pair of sheer see-through black briefs and nothing else.

He must have blinked a hundred times.

“Yeah, I can do this too,” Sean said.

And then a comforter, the dreaded comforter, hit him in the chest. And the door slammed.

He stood there staring at the light color of the pinewood door.

And later, enveloped in silence and a darkness that felt like the inverse of his long, over-bright day, he closed his laptop, and setting it aside—emails from Marissa as well as his flawless master checklist only making him miserable now—he crawled under the comforter. And was able to resist masturbating until he realized his jaw was locked unnaturally tight. Fuck, he couldn’t believe this. 

But he’d already started relaxing into the couch, letting his head sink into the pillow, closing his eyes. Imagining he was feeling a heavy weight on him, against his side, trying to fuse bodies with him. Soon enough he was reenacting a solo rendition of their greatest hits… with the addition of the latest snapshot from the bedroom.

_Goddamn it,_ he thought a short time later, panting against the leather couch. _Just…goddamn it._

*


	3. Chapter 3

Breakfast, courtesy of Alastair, was at Cavanaugh in Beverly Hills, an exclusive restaurant occupying the gardens of a sprawling pyramid-style office building. In addition to the restaurant, the building housed an Aston Martin dealership, a luxury travel agency, a boutique talent agency, a Chinese bronze-age antiquities gallery, and the LA offices of Larry Ellison, Vogue, Oprah and Madonna.

In a million years he would have never found his way there on his own.

Walking slowly through the restaurant behind the maitre d’, he was keenly aware of the wave of total silence his presence seemed to be generating. As if he’d just materialized out of thin air. Heads turning, astounded gazes following. Making their way through the indoor, ground floor section of the restaurant, the patio doors seemed a million miles away.

When Holden’s friend had called, citing Alastair and suggesting breakfast, there’d been no room for refusal. He’d never heard of Cavanaugh. But he hadn’t given that part away, figuring he could google it after the call. But even after, he’d still had to call Kara because there hadn’t been much online about it beyond a swanky website and the usual restaurant awards. Kara had breathlessly informed him that it was a power brokers enclave catering to the LGBTQ community. But not average Jane and Joe gay person however. Here the LA community’s “rich and or powerful” came for the latest on happenings in media, politics and everything else before starting their day. She’d been thrilled he was going, believing Holden had arranged it leading up to his Oprah interview or something. Not having the heart to burst her bubble on this imaginary new commitment to publicity he’d developed, he’d just mumbled his way through it.

The place was even more inaccessible than the website hinted. It even smelled like power, something light but hard. And with their astounded gazes feeling like a physical thing on his neck, he felt about as comfortable as a puppy in a room full of large, savvy house cats. He could just imagine himself seated in their midst, listening to them talk about their art and car collections, while he just thanked God for Netflix so he no longer had to record that show Holden watched. But he couldn’t imagine doing this. Hobnobbing for breakfast. It was exhausting enough wading through with coaches and team management during the season, what would make him want to spend his offseason doing the same. 

Eyes locked on the casually strolling maitre d’, the hair on the back of his neck prickling, he began wishing he’d worn sunglasses. This of all days, he didn’t need this, because his ego wasn’t accepting that the stares weren’t about that fucking article. He was wound tight, and no amount of aromatherapy was making a difference. And yesterday evening, whatever ounce of calm he’d managed to catch at the spa in the Palisades had slid right off on seeing Holden’s Lexus in his driveway. The night had only gotten worse from there. Chasing sleep had been useless, reminding him too uncomfortably of this nights on the road last winter, thinking too many bad thoughts about Holden.

Near the patio doors, and within sight of their destination, he ran into Oprah.

Preoccupied as he was, it took him more than a few moments to recognize that she was standing in front of him. Quickly recovering, he greeted her with a hug and a kiss, nodding while she told him it was good to see him again, even though he doubted she remembered him personally. They’d met years ago at a league charity event, well before he’d come out, so she’d had no reason to remember him. But he made good eye contact and nodded as she told him she was excited about the interview and hoped he was ready. He assured her he was and couldn’t wait to talk “some important stuff.” 

Nodding to the producers in her entourage, he waited for them to continue their exit before turning back to the maitre d’, a little discomposed, and kind of not minding now if they ran into Madonna. Probably suspecting his fanboy thoughts, the maitre d’ smiled and finally got him through the patio doors.

Out in the garden, reaction to his presence was no less marked. Maybe even more. At this point he just hoped Holden’s friend wasn’t late.

Casually moving across the lovely stone and wrought iron garden, the maitre d’ walked him right to its center and swept an arm toward a table there, at which Holden’s friend had stood up and was waiting for him.

Thanking the host, he nodded at Holden’s friend and shook his hand. And at last he sat.

—

Craig Hollenthal, vice president of finance at Wilson Realty, was the quiet, observant type. Showing a preference for others to talk rather than to speak himself. Smiling easily, all while absorbing personalities and temperatures. He knew the type. And like Holden and the rest of the men who surrounded him, Craig was very good looking and expensively, impeccably dressed. Tall, blond, and delicate featured, his style seemed to match his reserve. Cavanaugh had been his idea.

Though what idea that was, he’d be hard pressed to say. There’d been no calls from Alastair about the breakfast, not even to say he’d requested it. And Holden’s note that morning, typically brief in spite of Holden’s antics at his house last night, hadn’t mentioned it. Still, he wasn’t about to ask Craig. No more than he could have degraded himself to ask Holden’s other friend, Elliot, whose fucking idea it had been, because of a tabloid article, to go parade him before Holden’s former boyfriends.

They were seated across from each other at a round table, one he immediately noticed was larger than everyone else’s as if to signal that theirs wasn’t a closed-off meeting. Completely unlike the small tables around them at which pairs of women and men sat leaning in, whispering and sliding them looks. And set dead center in the garden, it was obviously that their table was there for all to see and he hadn’t been invited to Cavanaugh for the food. Great as it was written up to be.

At that moment, Craig was casually seated and giving off no undercurrents of agenda. More like they were old friends having their customary power breakfast. But with their server now at their table, he went ahead and ordered a large glass of fresh cucumber, ginger and carrot juice… and noticed Craig giving him a little smile. Craig then ordered just tea with lime. To go with the water and lime he was already having, he supposed.

As the waiter left, Craig briefly, in a flash, swept his eyes over him. The quickest of scrutinies. Nothing overt; nothing about him seemed like it could ever be. Yet somehow the cursory look had felt more thorough than an outright stare.

Then, smiling, Craig said, “I’ve watched a number of your NFL health videos on YouTube. I don’t think most people could maintain your dietary regimen.”

He’d started checking out the menu in ernest, and into the silence that followed Craig’s observation, he eventually said, “Uh huh.” 

He said nothing else as silence returned.

He’d first met Craig at the estate party in Beverly Hills, where he’d gone to find Holden after Cecelia had had that Wilson-approved Forbes article pushed out about him. What he remembered about Craig was a restrained personality and this brand of scrutiny. And his professed appreciation for Holden’s discretion about their relationship. It was why he’d thought him an okay guy.

It didn't mean, however, that he wanted to be having breakfast with him. And he hoped to God he wasn’t about to discover that he’d been mistaken about Craig’s personality and was about to be subjected to some nonsense. He was still trying not to latch on Alvarez’s assessment of Holden’s “crew”, especially what Alvarez had had to say about Craig. He didn’t care to be judged, or to be made to buddy up with a guy who treated relationships as casually as Alvarez had described it.

At worst, if Holden’s friends had gotten together and convinced Alastair that he should be seen out with them, that he was nothing more than a figment of Holden’s imagination, a fucking _myth,_ unless he was out partying with them, then by all means, they could do this. But they’d have to do it without his active participation. He wasn’t about to become their tea party doll to be posed as desired. In that regard, they were fully on their own.

“Sean.”

He slowly looked at Craig, to find him watching him with amusement. Or maybe it was empathy. Or simple interest. It was hard to tell.

“This isn’t going to hurt at all.”

“Yeah?”

He brought his gaze back to his menu. But now he saw that he was smiling. So it was amusement. He must have his reasons.

Checking his frustrations, he looked over the menu. Better he concentrate on making his selection and ending the breakfast as quickly as possible. Craig appeared to not be bothered by his minimal responses or their lack of small talk and said nothing whatsoever. That was good. The sooner they ended this the better. As for the looks and whispers, at least he was used to public attention, unwanted or not.

The waiter returned with their tea and juice, and soon he was no longer paying attention to what anyone else was doing, focused on putting together an order for what promised to be a phenomenal breakfast. So that when Craig hurriedly told the waiter, “The usual, please,” and was suddenly getting up, he was a little behind the curve. And was startled to look up and see Ben Hanan standing at their table, holding Craig’s shoulder.

Quickly pulling off his napkin, he stood up in time to take a soft handshake, surprised speechless.

Holden’s godfather barely looked at him, merely passing a perfunctory glance over him as if to verify that it was indeed him and that was all that was necessary to know.

Dressed in an apparent uniform of light-colored linen shirt, pale green this time, baggy linen pants, and a giant gold watch nearly buried under forearm hair, Hanan looked like a mafia don on a family vacation and merely sparing a moment to talk to the locals. And as with him and Holden on the boat, Hanan held him and Craig by the shoulder, as if blessing them too.

“Sean,” Hanan said, in a thick accent Holden had informed him was Israeli. “Viviana made me promise that when I see you again, I should tell you to bring Holden by the house for some whiskey and a life preserver. She said you would understand. I hope you do, because I have no idea about what that means.”

Meanwhile he was still trying to understand why Hanan was there.

But he nodded, understanding the reference to the night on the boat when only a tumbler of whiskey had stopped Holden from jumping overboard and taking Alastair with him. Also remembering that Holden mentioned Hanan’s home being in Santa Barbara and not LA, he thanked him for the invitation, saying it was beautiful in Santa Barbara this time of year and that Holden would love the visit.

Hanan nodded slowly and approvingly. “Good, sit.”

A chair slid itself to their table, but Hanan didn’t sit. Craig did however, and so he did as well. And then simply waited.

Hand on his shoulder still, and not looking at him but around the garden, Hanan said, “Have you seen Alastair lately, Sean?”

“Sure,” he said, a little surprised at how vocal Hanan’s voice had been. Everything else about the man was soft, even his hands, so the way his voice had carried was noticeable. And it had paused half the garden.

“When?”

“Few days ago,” he answered, then paused himself. Had he dropped the ball on some follow up or something? On the golf tournament maybe? “I got him some paperwork on the tourney from the Association office.”

Hanan nodded, his eyes still roaming the garden. And then he realized what was happening. Like head coach showing off some aspect of his abilities with a rival team’s management present. A staged moment for anyone within earshot to know that he was on good personal terms with Alastair. 

And judging from the frozen action and perked ears, people were very much listening.

 _Christ,_ he thought tiredly.

“Very good, Sean,” Hanan said. “All right. Be seeing you. And please don’t disappoint my wife.”

Hanan left as unobtrusively as he’d come, suddenly gone from their table to be replaced by their waiter carting appetizers.

As he watched their plates being set, he wondered whether Alastair had sent Hanan. Otherwise what the hell was Hanan doing there? Maybe he had offices upstairs. Craig’s eyes were on their plates, but he got the feeling the unobtrusive personality was waiting to be asked before offering information.

“Thank you,” Craig said to the waiter, who nodded and asked whether they’d like to order their main course. “Give us a minute,” Craig answered, and the waiter smiled and left.

And he decided one question wouldn’t hurt.

“What was that all about?” he asked in undertones. And then it occurred to him. “Or is he gay?”

Napkin on his knee, Craig picked up his fruit fork and speared a tiny avocado cube. And shook his head no. “He just moves wherever decisions are made. No matter the prevalent sexual orientation involved,” Craig added with a smile. He had an engaging, unexpected smile. “Though I think we can rest assured that mine wasn’t the only phone call Alastair made about our breakfast.”

He glanced over his shoulder but Hanan was long gone.

“He also probably wanted to see his victory up close,” Craig said. “He’s not the type to pass up that chance.”

“What victory?”

“The FRC fight.”

He frowned. “What’s he got to do with it? I barely know the guy. We just met a couple months ago.”

Craig lifted a curious, slightly lingering look at him.

“Holden brought him on board,” Craig said. “Holden didn’t tell you?”

Holden hadn’t. There’d been mention of a gay mafia network being called on, but he’d thought Holden was kidding. 

Slowly picking up his fruit fork, he contemplated a follow up question. Then further contemplated whether he was pushing his luck into territory he’d later regret, or whether Craig was in fact this easy to talk to.

“What’d Hanan do?” he asked.

This time when Craig looked up from his plate at him his curiosity was muted, yet his gaze was that much more observant. It wasn’t for several more outings before he came to know that this was Craig truly surprised.

“A lot,” Craig said. “He did a lot.”

Defensive at Craig’s tone, he about about to answer when Craig was suddenly looking past his shoulder and lifting a hand to someone back there.

Craig brought his eyes back to him.

“Ready?”

Turning, he saw a smallish balding guy in a grey suit walking toward their table. He’d seen him earlier by the patio doors, making a call while watching him pass.

Without getting up, Craig shook hands with the newcomer.

“Sean, this is Muller. Muller’s an agent in Hollywood.”

“Features lit,” Muller said in a no-nonsense, brisk manner. However he had no idea what the words meant. “It’s good to see you here, Sean. We expected you a lot sooner, but better late then never.”

Eyes already off him, Muller was looking across the garden and beckoning to someone. He looked over to see another suited man approaching. This one was big and broad chested, with thick shaggy hair falling over his collar. He had a tough, confrontational look to him. 

On reaching them, instead of exchanging greetings, the newcomer stood staring down at Craig.

“Hey, you,” the man said conversationally. “We got beef. There’ll be more invites for you if you’re gonna leave nothing but broken hearts in my infinity pool. You could at least call these boys once in a while.”

Craig began smiling, his amusement was unmistakable this time.

“KV,” Muller said. “Check out our man of the hour, in the flesh.”

Now KV turned to him. “Sean Jackson. Jesus Christ, look at you. Thank God I’m not a pimp. Cause I’d be down on my knees right now begging to make a fortune off you. I’d roll up half the town, easy.”

“KV’s also in Hollywood,” Craig said, maybe by way of explanation. Because he certainly had none for what he’d just heard. “A talent agent. So I guess a pimp, despite what he says. He also helped last summer.”

“That’s right, Sean. How fucking fun was that whole thing? No need to thank me though, I’m not one of the good guys. Everyone knows I only did it to get into Holden’s pants.”

“And how’d that work out for you?” Craig asked, his smile broadening.

“Not as well as you’d think, considering. There I was, dreaming of finally getting jerked off by him at my next party. Because for him, on that thing, we cut all the brakes. Instead, next thing I know, he’s engaged to the guy. Fucking _engaged._ So go ahead and ask me what his actual thanks to me was, for all my hard work. A fucking text. _Thanks, KV._ Fucking heartbreaker.”

“He never told me he sent you a text,” Craig said. “I guess he always did have a soft spot for you.”

“Assholes, the both of you.” KV then turned to him again. “Sean, about your book deal. Where are we on that?”

He’d been listening from the corner of his eyes. Now he slanted up a look, still trying to determine whether this guy was speaking for shock value or what.

“Woof,” KV breathed down at him.

He returned his attention to his appetizer and wondered whether it would cross into unforgivable rudeness not to answer, or whether it would just be normal rude.

“We’re nowhere on that,” he said shortly.

“Okay. That’s good, because it’s never just a book deal. There’ll be a feature movie or maybe something for TV. Either way, we need to get the whole package right. I’m saying it right now. So call us before negotiating any book deals. And by us I mean me and Muller. Everyone knows you don’t have any reps in town.”

Perhaps because of his irritation, KV’s words made even less sense now. Did the guy mean he didn’t have any reps in town besides the team of reps he had in town?

“Town meaning Hollywood,” Craig explained, seeing his look. “They think there’s nothing in LA besides Hollywood.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said to KV, hoping to never see the guy again.

“All right, Sean,” Muller said briskly. “We have to run. Stay in touch.”

“Do that,” KV said. “And tell Holden to stop being a stranger. He needs to atone for four years of keeping you all to himself. I expect you two at my next party.”

And then the agents were gone.

He didn’t watch them go. Though he noticed Craig dabbing his napkin to his mouth, and for the first time since sitting down, avoiding his eyes.

Muller and KV weren’t gone seconds when a pair of men who’d been sitting to his left against the garden wall stood up and came over.

And within a few short minutes, while their server cleared their plates, it become clear that Hanan’s little show had served its purpose and had broken a seal around them. Yet Hanan’s overt moves or even KV’s inappropriateness turned out not to be the most unexpected surprise of the breakfast. 

Very soon, he got his answer for why Alastair had wanted him here.

Exchanging handshakes, the pair of men introduced themselves as lawyers at a downtown firm specializing in LGBTQ matters, and that they’d counseled legal expertise to media pundits their community’s organizations had sent out to speak on his behalf. That it was great to finally meet him. After them came two aides from the LA mayor’s office who’d been behind some statements issued at the time from that office and wanted to congratulate him for choosing to fight back.

Then came business executives, directors at charity organizations, lobbyists, public relations reps for the police department, several state legislators, local councilors, city commissioners. And nearly to the person, each of them had participated in some way against the FRC. And each of them had uplifting words of congratulations for him.

It left him speechless. It was so totally opposite of what he had been thinking of their scrutiny that he couldn’t easily process it.

No one had been staring at him as an anomalous presence in their space. He hadn’t been assessed as an unsavvy interloper into their circles, they instead been surprised. Because they’d waited so long, and apparently in vain, to welcome him on his coming out. 

That was what this was all about. And as they kept coming, it hit him hard in the face that he had never done this. For every person and organization that had gone on both offense and defense for him, he had never so much as made a single phone call to tell them thank you.

As the realization sank in like an extremely bitter pill to swallow, a smiling woman approached came over and introduced herself as a director at the national Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association.

He knew her organization well, and what they did, from his study last spring after coming out. They worked to promote better and more accurate coverage of the community in the media.

“Sean, what a pleasure to finally meet you,” the director vigorously said, shaking his hand.

“The JA mobilized an army of media pundits in your defense last year,” Craig said, aware now that he knew next to nothing. “It was impressive work.”

“And a fantastic victory. The Wilsons have given us such absolutely incredible financial support over the years, you can’t imagine how good it felt to wage the fight in support of Holden. Thank you for having the courage to come out, Sean, and congratulations on your upcoming wedding. Welcome aboard.”

She shook his hand, beaming at him, and thanking her, he was almost too affected to speak. So he just lowered his gaze when she left. 

_Jesus,_ he suddenly realized. _What the hell is wrong with me?_

Of course Alastair had known this. This breakfast had nothing to do with Holden’s ex-partners. Alastair was probably aware of his deficit within his own support systems and having raised a son who worked steadily to make himself a vital part of these systems, who never his own privileged life make him lose track of important things, Alastair was probably dead set against losing his son to a raging, entitled idiot. Stuck in his own head and functioning from behind a defensive wall, unaware even of an entire community of people to whom he owed a debt of thanks. Yet wanting to take starting position in his son’s life.

While their waiter laid their table with their main courses, he stole a look at Craig. Craig was watching the table being set.

But of course Craig understood Alastair’s rationale. What had Craig been doing since they sat down except playing special assistant. 

Anger suddenly felt distant, absorbed by a quiet, profound reality. He sat still as the server poured his glass of juice. Besides the tinkling of spoons in cups and glasses, of glass carafes touching plates, there was a muted silence at their table. Yet around him the morning air seemed to have sharpened, the quiet conversations around them reaching him as if in stereo sound.

He let himself get so hurt over things Holden couldn’t control. A tabloid article. While Holden never let such things come between them, always did the most for him. Holden had been pushing and arranging for everything that went into the FRC fight even while acting out over having finally committed to their relationship. What right, then, did he really have to continue being so angry in the face of Holden’s unwavering support of him? Why was he letting a _past_ Holden himself had renounced hurt his ego so much, to the point of shutting Holden out?

He could hear Davey methodically calling him names in his head. And Davey would be right. So goddamned right. _Him _from last week would be right.__

__Craig was suddenly looking up again past his shoulder at where yet another person was approaching. Shoring up for another round, he kept a neutral expression as a strikingly good looking African American man had appeared at their table and was staring down at him. Wide set eyes beneath a perfect set of eyebrows, and except for the curl to the corner of his mouth, an inscrutable expression._ _

__Stunned, he stared up at the face he had seen countless times._ _

__This time Craig stood up and hugged the newcomer._ _

__“Sean,” Craig said. “I’d like you to meet Stevenson. You two are way overdue for an introduction.”_ _

__He continued staring in disbelief. Of course he knew Stevenson Byrne. The whole world did. Byrne was one of the main anchors on CNN, with his own show on the network. He had long ago been informally dubbed “the most trusted face in America.”_ _

__Standing up, he firmly shook his hand, telling him it was really nice to meet him. And then found that beyond the excitement in his head, he was unsure of what next to say, since he hadn’t a clue whether Stevenson Byrne was gay or whether it was just another Oprah and Hanan situation._ _

__Byrne was smiling at him. “Sit down, both of you. You’re standing like we’re at the White House.”_ _

__Craig sat, so he did once again, while Byrne looked at him. “How’s Holden?”_ _

__“He’s fine,” he said, nearly exhilarated. “Thanks for asking.”_ _

__Byrne smiled lopsidedly at him. As if he found the answer strange._ _

__“Stevenson was front and center for your media campaign last year,” Craig said._ _

__At this point he was just trying to hide his embarrassment. Yet he had no one to blame but himself, when Holden had explicitly told him he’d had a ton of help. Worse still, from Byrne’s reaction, it was obvious that Byrne was close enough to Holden to not need his thanks for asking after him._ _

__He was blushing. And he could only nod at the anchor._ _

__“I’m so grateful,” he told him. “Never got to say thanks though. So, please, thank you.”_ _

__“Ah,” Byrne said. “I was only too happy to pitch in. Your situation in the league couldn’t have been easy.”_ _

__He nodded, but shrugged. “I had it better than most.”_ _

__“This is true.”_ _

__“Get a chair,” Craig said to Byrne. “Stay.”_ _

__“Can’t,” Byrne replied. “Duty calls.” Then Byrne looked again at him. “Welcome aboard, Sean. My regards to Holden. Tell him it’s been a while.”_ _

__No sooner were the words said than a sudden buzz of whispering rose around them. Turning, he saw that most heads were turned toward the far end of the garden where none other than Holden Wilson was pushing open a hip-high, ivy-wrapped gate and coming towards them._ _

__The first thought that crossed his mind was a side entrance straight from valet to the garden existed yet he’d been walked through the entire restaurant to get there._ _

__His second thought was that Holden—looking almost offensively beautiful last night when he’d denied him entry into his bedroom—this morning looked like a fairytale prince. He realized he was experiencing that phenomenon that seemed to happen when he was rightfully angry at Holden, when his brain had a perfectly valid issue to handle and his heart and his damn sex organ chose that very reason to fuck with him._ _

__But he was okay with it this time, and he didn’t wonder what he was going to do when Holden reached him. Then he noticed that Byrne was looking at him and no Holden, and didn’t know what to make of it because he definitely wasn’t thinking aloud. Until he realized he was on his feet, his napkin on the table where Byrne’s gaze had momentarily gone._ _

__Byrne met his eyes with a surprised arch of his eyebrow. Not sure what the surprise was about, he turned back to Holden approaching._ _

__What happened, instead, was that Holden reached their table with his eyes on Byrne and not on him._ _

__Going straight for Byrne, Holden had both arms extended, but when Byrne tried to hug him Holden suddenly, and very awkwardly, held himself back. As if rethinking the hug. And then he stuck out a hand for a handshake instead._ _

__Confused, Byrne stopped, making it painfully obvious that the offer of a handshake was unusual. Byrne then shot _him_ a look. And now aware he’d done something odd, Holden completed the action and hugged Byrne._ _

__Byrne watched as Holden pulled back, avoiding his eyes, and asked whether he wasn’t staying for breakfast._ _

__So Byrne was gay. And Holden may or may not have dated him._ _

__Heart at a pained standstill, he waited for Holden to finally come to him. Holden did, stalling as their bodies barely touched and Holden stared straight into his eyes, uttering a hoarse “Hi.” Mentally scattered, it took him a second to remember that they’d left last night at a stalemate. Closing their gap, he took him by the waist and leaned in, but Holden’s lips only nervously brushed his cheek, in what could hardly be called a kiss._ _

__—_ _

__Byrne was gone and Holden had since taken a seat, focused on him yet somehow seeming alert to their surroundings. He had no idea how Holden was doing it, especially because his own heart was still in its destabilized rhythm, not having expected that moment with Byrne. Byrne who’d very quickly and tactfully excused himself. Since then he’d been praying for Holden to get a grip and not sit next to him giving off an air of panic and self-awareness, forcing his thoughts in directions it didn’t want to go. Was Holden even meant to be there? He couldn’t tell. Alastair probably wouldn’t have asked, and it wasn’t clear whether Craig had invited him. Craig didn’t seem surprised by Holden’s appearance, but he was fast realizing that Craig’s reactions weren’t a gauge for much._ _

__One thing was for sure though. The rest of the garden was thrilled to see Holden, who’d done a small round of greetings before returning and pulling his chair close up to him. On his left, mostly staring dead into his face. Holden had left him a one-line note that morning. _I miss sleeping in your bed._ Stuck on the fridge next to another which pragmatically stated that there was fresh juice in the fridge so no need for him to make any. Still feeling victimized by the article, he’d trashed them both._ _

__Now he returned Holden’s stare. “We’re good,” he said quietly._ _

__Holden continued staring at him, apparently not sure what that meant. No worry, he’d show him later. Holden began looking around for a menu, but after about a second Holden turned to him._ _

__“This is just like when I had breakfast with Kay at Louise’s,” he said softly. “And you turned up out of nowhere and nearly blew my head off. Right?”_ _

__It took him a beat, but he said, “Not really.”_ _

__Holden went right on staring into his face. “She says hi, by the way. Louise I mean. I talked to her yesterday. She still can’t believe she’s coming to Spain. She’ll wow all our guests with her baking skills, don’t you think?”_ _

__When he glanced at Holden, he realized that Holden was just then catching up with the Stevenson Byrne moment and realizing he probably shouldn’t have acted or reacted the way he had. He could see it in Holden’s eyes. So in another second Holden had lowered his gaze to his menu. But only momentarily, as Holden was soon raising nervous eyes back at him._ _

__“You don’t think so?”_ _

__So he made a decision. With Holden seated in such close proximity anyway, he leaned over and kissed him. Underneath his jaw, pressing his lip to where his pulse raced wildly. He held the kiss until Holden let out a shallow, trembling breath. Like a tire being released of too much pressure. Then he gently broke the kiss, sat back, and held Holden’s eyes. Holden’s eyes blinked and flashed at him like blue searchlights. But Holden stopped talking._ _

__And around the garden, near total silence had descended. Sneaking a look at Craig, he found him watching them the same way he’d been watching him all morning, the same way he’d watched them at the estate party—with no pretense that he wasn’t fascinated._ _

__A voice suddenly broke into their suspended silence._ _

__“Oh, my God, Holden! Is that really you? It’s been forever!”_ _

__This time he didn’t look up. He recognized artifice when he heard it. But Holden quickly did…and bumped his thigh right into the table._ _

__He quickly reached for Holden while Craig grabbed the edge of the table, halting their dangerously rocking waters and juices._ _

__Frozen at the near accident, Holden was clutching his hand, the one on his thigh, and his heart stopped completely in tenderness to feel Holden’s badly trembling hand. He heard him thanking him softly. But when he looked up Holden’s eyes were firmly on the approaching man._ _

__The man who was now standing right beside their table, very close to him on the right. Sparing a quick look up, he saw yet another good looking guy staring down at him. Eyes sharpened._ _

__Lowering his eyes to his plate, he wiped his visual memory clean, while Holden barely allowed the guy a sentence in. No introductions were made and the man was gone seconds after arriving._ _

__Holden sat back down trying to make eye contact, while at this point he was just hoping Holden didn’t knock their entire table over._ _

__Holden now leaned over. He was wearing a cobalt blue suit and a blue paisley tie, and combined with his shining hair and skin and eyes, and the smell of him which God help him always brought to mind perfect blowjobs, he was doing all he could not to start feeling him up._ _

__Holden was still staring at him. “Can we meet up later?” he asked quietly._ _

__He nodded._ _

__And finally, Holden sat back. Then he picked up his menu and at last seemed to see Craig._ _

__“Hi, Craig.”_ _

__Craig smiled, and asked, “Something for you, Chief?”_ _

__“Could you ask for a dessert menu, please?” Holden quietly asked._ _

__Craig signaled for their waiter._ _

__—_ _

__Desserts consumed, the breakfast finally over, Holden told them he had to return to the office, apparently meaning for all three of them to leave together. Instead Craig told him to go ahead._ _

__“I’ll see to getting Sean to valet.”_ _

__Holden slowed his movements, seeming unprepared and without a comeback. And casting Craig an unsure look. The hesitation gave him the impression of a prior agreement having been made, that Holden was trying to get around._ _

__Craig just calmly smiled. And Holden then seemed to give up. Turning to him, Holden quietly said, “I’ll call you.”_ _

__And so, with another wafter-thin kiss, though this time Holden tried to hold it a little longer, Holden left the garden._ _

__A second later their server appeared with his to-go order. A purchase of two small jars of the restaurant’s unbelievably delicious wine-based fruit preserves._ _

__While the waiter presented their check, he wondered whether to order a crate of the stuff, come to think of it, because Holden would likely go through two jars in a matter of days. And then it struck him that Craig hadn’t in fact called for their server or the check, and Craig was signing it without a credit card being processed._ _

__Clearly Wilson Realty had an account with the restaurant, so without any delay they could have left with Holden. Instead, for whatever reason, the arrangement seemed to be that Holden leave without him._ _

__Done signing, Craig had asked if he was ready._ _

__This time, as he left, it was amid smiles, eye contact and expressed hopes to see him again soon. Craig got the gate for him. At valet, he glanced back behind him into the garden._ _

__Next to him, Craig stood with his hands in his trouser pockets, with his air of almost preternatural calm. Catching the direction of his gaze, Craig turned and looked as well._ _

__“Whatever you’re thinking,” Craig said, “you’re probably right.”_ _

__“How do you know what I’m thinking?”_ _

__“I don’t. But you’re considered one of the best quarterbacks on record, so statistically speaking, your assessments are probably correct.”_ _

__His Navigator rolled up just then, and Craig nodded to it._ _

__“Geffen’s people are sending a car for you tomorrow night. See you then.” And then he smiled politely._ _

__His smiles were meant to be reassuring, he presumed, but already he was understanding that they definitely weren’t, in the way that taking off your clothes and standing naked in public wasn’t._ _

__Yet Craig had withstood the test of his own personality, seeming no different from the impression he’d gotten of him before, genuinely self-contained and unworried about degrees of engagement. He didn’t feel like he had to talk to him as Sean Jackson. Or even as Holden’s fiancé._ _

__If Alastair had designated him chaperon for the next few weeks, he might survive at least the showing up part._ _

__Lifting a finger in thanks, to which Craig nodded, he got into his Navigator._ _

__Driving off, it was with an eye on the rearview. But all Craig did was hand his ticket to valet and check his watch, then stand there waiting for his car. Like a mannequin in a store window._ _

__But turning onto Santa Monica, he took a breath. The morning was over. What would Craig report to Alastair, he wondered. Or Hanan. Had he passed?_ _

__Looking back at the garden, he’d been thinking that this was a world he couldn’t, and didn’t, want to turn his back on. He needed and wanted to be here. To be a functioning part of what coming out in the NFL had achieved. The catch was that Holden had an entire history here. So that it felt like needing to enter a room with only one, very difficult entrance._ _

__Because never mind Holden’s nervousness, he knew that Cavanaugh wasn’t what Holden was afraid of._ _

__—_ _

__They met up several hours later, before Holden went to a scheduled lunch. They met, rather strangely, inside a flower shop. He was around the area and Holden was ever unwilling to risk them having sex in his office. Also, Holden seemed to know the shopkeepers, who ushered them into a small hallway stuffed with days-old flowers. Cramped and fragrant, they made themselves fit by glueing themselves together. Fingers clasped, facing each other. Rather, necking each other. He couldn’t tell which of their heartbeats was going so hard. He liked it that way. Holden’s free hand had found its way far up his T-shirt, kneading his upper back. Intensifying the pleasure of resisting his excitement. And he had to because one of them had to. Because it wasn’t going to be Holden who was licking and kissing his neck with complete abandon. He had his forearm braced against the wall beside Holden’s head, his head buried against him because feeling him moving against him, growing hard against his own arousal, was all he wanted in life at that moment. Holden pushed against his lower body, turned on like a heated oven, and was whispering to him. _I’m sorry. I’m gonna make everything right. I promise._ And he wanted to tell him he was sorry too, that he never wanted to fail him, to fail their love and commitment to each other. But he couldn’t manage more than fleeting thoughts. His thanks would have to come later._ _

__Holden turned and sought his mouth, kissing him harder and deeper. Touching him from back to thighs. His fingers taking him apart. All his tension melted, what hours of massage and relaxation couldn’t do, replaced by a better type of tension. Lifting both arms, he braced them on the wall, offering up total access to his body. And Holden pulled him closer. Still kissing him. Forever making him feel safe. And loved._ _

__And as always, he believed him._ _

__*_ _


	4. Chapter 4

“Word is, it went quiet well.”

“He’s a professional football player, Elliot. Not an alien monster.”

“I don’t know. Don’t NFL superstars go around being loud and obnoxious and breaking things? Demanding all kinds of privileges, when not outright committing crimes, that is? You know, prima donna stuff. A.k.a. the reason your life is so full of drama these days?”

Standing in his dressing room staring at shirts inside his wardrobe, he didn’t respond. He was barely paying attention to Elliot, pretending not to hear his overly casual tones. Always a sign of trouble.

Tonight was Ten Lounge, his and Sean’s first outing together under the new schedule. And sure enough, Petey had tweeted it. It had gotten a billion likes and retweets, but he’d been too nervous to read any of the replies. Frankly, were he any more nervous, he’d simply stay home. So he certainly didn’t need Elliot salting and spicing wherever he could. Elliot was also on speakerphone and didn’t sound like he was moving about, so probably Elliot was all set and was just calling to stress him.

And he was definitely stressed. At the moment he was trying to select a shirt that would capture and hold Sean’s attention for the evening. Keep him mellow and distracted, or at least focused on him. Because a day and a half later, he was still not sure what had prompted Sean’s change of heart after Cavanaugh and their little miracle at the flower shop. He could only say that Sean had evidently chosen to remain physically close over the anger that he knew was still very much there. A truce Sean had reached with himself but which no one had to tell him left very little room for screwing up.

“Craig was impressed,” Elliot was saying. “But then he likes Sean."

“And you don’t? Elliot, for the love of God—”

“Down, boy. I’m just yanking yer chain. I’m thrilled about tonight.”

“But probably not in the way you should be.”

Reaching into the wardrobe, he selected a light grey shirt that looked promising. He held it up and examined it. It had a textured red placket running down its length on which the buttons were sewn. Heart’s blood red, the shop assistant had told him was the name of the color. He remembered making the purchase. She’d pitched it as a red that begged to be touched, to be caressed, maybe cause a few buttons to get undone. And he totally agreed. Hopefully Sean would too.

Taking it off its hanger, he spoke toward the phone sitting on a wardrobe shelf.

“Listen to me, Elliot. I listened to you about doing this, so now you listen to me. Tonight isn’t about whatever issues you have with him. I get your frustration, I think, but if you upset him tonight with your know it all attitude, I’ll seriously consider putting our friendship on hold until after the wedding. I’m not kidding about that.”

“And who does your best man runs?”

“I’ll hire a professional.”

Elliot laughed quietly. “You mean, like, a whore? I’m sure Sean’ll love that.”

“Just say you heard me.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Let’s try to maintain a standard tonight, please. Craig performed perfectly. He got Sean in and out of Cavanaugh with zero casualties.” _Well, almost._ “This is yours and Petey’s move, so let’s try to keep it as clean.”

“Ten isn’t my move, are you kidding? It’s Petey’s. A brilliant one, I might add. But it’s no more my move than Cav was Craig’s. We haven’t done ours yet.”

Halfway done buttoning the shirt, he stopped and stared at the phone.

“What do you mean by that? You have something specific in mind? You and Craig? Are you guys the reason Blake’s is on there?”

“No, H, _you’re_ the reason Blake’s is on there.” Elliot paused, and he could feel him shaking his head. “I swear you have a customer of the year plaque on a back room wall somewhere.”

“I’m asking, Elliot. Do you guys have something specific in mind?”

“Of course not,” Elliot said, all innocence. “Aren’t we just taking things one outing at a time, like we agreed? Isn’t the idea to create a Getty Images database to erase the more troubling ones of the past? Or am I seeing this wrong?”

Focused on finishing with the buttons, he ignored Elliot. Trying, actually, to decide whether to do up an extra button at the top of the shirt past the top of his chest. He’d noticed that Sean sometimes pulled at the neck of his T-shirt whenever horniess set in, as if wanting to see his collar bone. Weird, but who was he to say. One extra button closed would be just under there and maybe Sean would care more about that than anything else going on in the bar. It could happen.

“Although I have to say that for me,” Elliot said, musingly. “It’s much more personal than just getting a bunch of photos out. I’m finally going to witness what caused your alcoholic meltdown in November. H, you can’t imagine my excitement. I’m about to see Mister Magic himself in action.” And Elliot now lowered his voice seductively. “Mister flowers and morning cuddles. He of the moonlight walks on the beach. Devotee of the erotic massage, purveyor of the multiple orgasm. A masterclass, surely. God be my witness, I can hardly wait.”

Finished with the shirt, pushing up the sleeves, he checked the results in the dressing room’s floor length mirror, hoping it looked as good as it had in the shop’s mirror. It looked fine.

“I hear you not answering,” Elliot teased. “Sorry if I got you excited.”

“You mean sorry you got _yourself_  excited.”

Elliot laughed softly. “So what’d he do with the oils from Elementals, anyway?”

Frowning, he wondered for a moment what Elliot was talking about. And then remembering, began wondering himself as well. Sean had bought the stuff before Miami, yet he’d seen no evidence of any of it since. But maybe it was the reason Sean smelled like dessert lately. Except that he didn’t know how exactly that would come about. Sean had been using oils and things like that since he’d known him, and none of it was like what Sean had been hitting him with lately.

“What’d he get?” he couldn’t help asking.

“I didn’t quite see.”

“But— what exactly do you guys use the stuff for? I mean, besides… you know, massages.”

“You think _I’m_ giving anyone massages?” Elliot asked drolly.

“You’re into aromatherapy?” he asked in surprise.

There was a complete, confounded silence. “What?” Elliot asked.

Reaching back into the wardrobe, he pulled out the fitted red blazer he’d bought with the shirt.

“You’re running late,” he told Elliot.

But Elliot had started laughing, and couldn’t seem to find an end to his amusement.

“He is _not_ into aromatherapy! Don’t tell me he is, I’ll die! I can’t stop laughing!”

“I’m hanging up.”

Elliot caught a deep, long breath. “Ahh, fuck me. You can’t make this stuff up. Okay, see you soonish… _beautiful._ ”

Blazer on, he picked up the phone and immediately put Elliot’s pressures out of his head.

More difficult, however, were the ones he’d been generating on his own.

He’d talked to Petey that afternoon, who’d pep-talked him about tonight. About it marking their official entry into the lion’s den and he not wanting to be the weak link. But unless he pulled it together, that was exactly what he was proving to be. 

He’d literally _once_ had a fling with Stevenson Byrne, while they’d coincidentally been in Prague for a weekend at the same time. This had been years before he’d even met Sean. And he hadn’t slept with him in the years he’d been seeing Sean. Steven who wasn’t even publicly out, and with whom he’d been friends forever, working together over the years in efforts with their community’s various organizations. And who’d been the very person he’d turned to for assistance with the big media side of the FRC fight. Steven was a good friend and that was all. Yet he’d managed to turn a simple hug into an amateur display of inexplicable guilt. He might as well have drawn Sean a rotating animated diagram.

Elliot _was_ right about one thing. The breakfast had gone over well. He knew because he’d gotten a text from his dad telling him how pleased he was with how the breakfast had gone.

The text, on his iPhone where his parents’ communication all forwarded, had ended with the confidence that he’d take “good care of Sean” in the coming weeks, and make sure that “what we talked about” didn’t play out too stressfully for Sean.

Anger had flared in him like a struck match, at the unbelievably self-serving words. Because what the hell _had_ they talked about? It had been a struggle not to reply and do so sharply. But, recalling a time when he’d kept his parents at an emotional distance and how much easier his life had been, he’d put the iPhone back in his desk drawer and put the whole thing from his mind.

Cavanaugh had been a relatively safe place. He was hoping tonight would be the same. Going to a bar with Sean wasn’t going to spell disaster in one night, and Elliot was right that Ten was a great idea. Maybe he could build up Sean’s tolerances this way. Slowly accrete toward the coming storm, the inevitable whiteout that was Blake’s.

—

_Holden, we need to talk. I’m downstairs._

About to leave his condo and expecting Elliot’s call, he stared at the text that had come in instead, hardly believing his eyes.

Not yet replying, he tapped the app for the building’s intercom system and asked concierge whether there was anyone there to see him. Front desk said no, but that Mr. Manassian was expected shortly. Thanking them, he disconnected and tapped a reply to Darren. Who must have been sitting somewhere in his car, probably at valet. He informed him that Elliot was on his way and he definitely didn’t want to be there and run into him.

He didn’t get a reply.

Elliot flashed his phone a second later and he declined the call, checked himself one last time in the foyer mirror, and exited. With no intention of letting Darren distract him tonight, he crossed the lobby without stopping to see if Darren had left any messages. Even if, he’d wait until after returning to trash it. He didn’t need the aggravation. Neither was he about to tell Elliot. He needed Elliot’s brain working for him tonight, not distracted by schemes against Darren.

—

Closing the car door and sitting back, he stared, disquieted, at Elliot, who from hair to stubble to fingertips, looked shiny, confident and invited. Like a million bucks. 

“Why do you look so good and I feel like a nervous wreck,” he asked, bewildered.

“Fortunately,” Elliot said, shifting his Jaguar into gear. “You sure as fuck don’t look it.”

Tearing off the grounds, they zipped northward on Wilshire Boulevard toward Santa Monica Boulevard and West Hollywood.

Around them, LA nightlife was kicking off. Car lights blazing, condominium and hotel driveways filled with cars, people dressed to kill stepping out of chauffeured limos into blazing building entrances. And up ahead, Santa Monica Boulevard drew closer by the second.

So this was it.

“Relax, H.”

“I’m pretty relaxed.”

Elliot flitted along, joining a line of fast moving cars. Elliot was a really good driver. Like, race car good, and could avoid other cars perfectly, shifting lanes easily like in a game of Tetris. Same with Petey. Whereas he had been accused being a grandpa at the wheel, scaring the crap out of everyone by being overly cautious.

“You wanna call him?” Elliot asked.

“No,” he said quietly. “Things went fine with Petey’s pickup though?”

“Sure. Craig’s with them now.”

Nodding, aware that Sean seemed to have a tolerance for Craig, he asked, “Petey didn’t try to take his clothes off in the back seat or anything?”

Elliot appeared to think for a second. “You know, I’m not sure. You mean Sean’s?”

“Well, yeah. I’m not even going to ask whether Petey had his on in the first place.”

Elliot burst into quiet laughter, and he managed a smile.

“You haven’t called him though?” He shook his head. “And he hasn’t called you?” Again he shook his head. “Don’t tell me you guys haven’t spoken since Cavanaugh.”

He looked outside at the lights streaking past. “We, um… spoke after.”

“So you guys are good, right?”

He nodded.

“But…?”

“But nothing. I’m giving him space.”

Elliot snorted in disbelief. “I cannot deal with you two’s drama. What, is he mad at you still?”

“I just told you we’re good. And don’t _you_ think he’s mad at you? You dragged him into this.”

“Of course. Kill the messenger every time. I expect nothing less from the royal consort.”

“This is your attitude for the night. This is it. Right?”

“I don’t think it matters what attitude I have, to be honest. Because I’m pretty sure his will sink all ours put together.”

He tightened his jaw, looked outside and sighed. “You know I could have sworn you said you weren’t mad at him anymore. Something about understanding where he was coming from?”

“Oh, I completely understand Sean’s attitude. I just don’t see where it says I have to put up with it.”

“ _I’m_ saying it.”

Elliot too took a breath, then gave a small shrug. Keeping his eyes on the crazy Thursday night traffic.

“If you get that he might have… I don’t know, experienced something that’s made him sensitive, then why can’t you appreciate that he might not adjust in the same way we would?”

“It’s his sense of entitlement, Holden. He wants to _own_ you.”

He turned back to looking outside. “Maybe I’m okay with that.”

“ _Without_ really knowing you.”

He didn’t answer, just watched the cars playing chase with each other around traffic.

“And when his entitlement finally crashes up against your independence,” Elliot continued. “I’m still going to be the one telling you to have patience with him.”

“It’s different now. _I’m_ different with him.”

“Well, I guess we’ll see.”

They’d cleared Wilshire and were cruising on Santa Monica with heavier traffic, slower cars, and the lights of West Hollywood up ahead. All enhancing an already beautiful night.

And unexpectedly, he was thinking about the future. That in a week’s time it would be May, and three months from then Sean’s offseason would be over and Sean would be gone again. 

His heart was suddenly hurting, as if being squeezed by a merciless hand. Sean’s offseason was all but over. They’d spent the time having time for nonsense. And it was looking like they were going to spend the rest of the offseason doing the same. When they should have chased nothing but bliss. If he hadn’t been floored by emotions from Johnston, dreaming of perfect family nights, of being hugged like a son and teased like a little brother, he would never have given in to his mother setting their wedding date. That would have been out of the question. He would have instead vanished into Malibu and dared reality to find him. He would have taken all those emotions that had found him in Johnston for a spin all summer long with Sean. Discover where it all led. And then in August, after Sean returned to training camp, they would have taken the entire season slow. Learned to be away from each other without defaulting to crises. Learned to love without this feeling of drowning, if they could.

Instead, he had chosen to live a reality show. And the bullshit still wasn’t over.

Suddenly, a jangling rhythm guitar broke into the night air around them, a rolling blues melody springing from the Jaguar’s sound system. Suddenly, momentously, John Fogerty was singing about a bad moon rising. _I see trouble on the way. I see earthquakes and lightening, I see bad times today._

He just shook his head. Where had Elliot even gotten this. Elliot meanwhile was tapping out the rhythm on the steering wheel and obviously waiting for him to say this was beneath him. They’d just crossed into West Hollywood from Beverly Hills and he kept his gaze ahead and refused to give him the satisfaction. But after a few bars, he couldn’t help himself and turned to him.

“This is beneath you,” he told him.

Elliot laughed in satisfaction, made a left on Hilldale Avenue and shortly they’d pulled up in front of Ten Lounge…to the sight of about a billion people crowding the pavement outside.

Alarmed, he could only stare.

Everyone from Twitter had shown up. On the pavement, in line, taking pictures, sending texts, yelling into phones.

But maybe this _was_ a good thing. Ten was what Petey referred to as a “working class” bar because its core patrons worked nine-to-fives. So normal people. It was known for it’s stress-free atmosphere, with noisy gaming tables and strong drinks, and tended to host a rather easygoing, fun loving bunch of gay men. Guys who’d seen a little of life and could show you a very good time without making too much of a follow up about it. In theory it was a great place to bring Sean, specifically because it wasn’t _their_ crowd, the set who’d put Sean so much on edge last summer, and maybe some of the patrons here had even been from the Midwest once upon a time. More the type of guys Sean could relate to better. However in practice, maybe not. On the fun scale, the place was pretty seasoned and Sean could be so…prudent about his sexuality. 

Still, it had an egalitarian atmosphere that Sean might like—everyone came to Ten and here nothing was personal. And in opening it up on Twitter, Petey had ensured clarity on that, turning what could have felt like a pressured private showing into a commercial for his and Sean’s first night out in LA. The alternative would have been taking Sean to some big commercial gay bar, like Bootleggers, i.e. places he never went, and then he would have woken up in the morning to cynical texts about his manufactured “safe” choice of venue.

He needed to thank Petey later. This could actually work.

Being the type to never wait in line, Elliot had pulled around the line of cars until he was parallel to first at valet. Freaked by the audacity, an attendant now dashed across cars to them, rounding to Elliot’s side. The attendant had begun telling Elliot to either pull around the block or step out quickly, when the guy suddenly made eye contact with him and did a double take. He saw him glance mindlessly at the empty back seats, as if Sean was somehow squeezed in back there and he just wasn’t seeing him.

Elliot silenced Credence Clearwater mid-strum and held a finger up at the attendant, who nodded and quickly waved over another attendant. 

Then Elliot turned to him, a smile in his eyes.

“Ready?”

Slowly, he turned to look at the bar’s entrance. A second attendant was rushing over as the first left them.

“Elliot, listen. I have something I want to say to you.”

Elliot was still looking at him when he turned back. Looking and waiting. Still smiling.

“I haven’t addressed… something important,” he said. “I guess everything’s happened so fast and I just haven’t taken the time. I wanted to say that— I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner about Sean. I’m sorry I kept him a secret from you so long. I…should have introduced you two right after he came out. The fact that it’s been a difficult relationship is no excuse. I’m really sorry.”

“Are you saying all this so I don’t go off on him when I get in there?”

“Are you not accepting my apology? Well, I’ll just take it back then.”

“Apology accepted,” Elliot said, smiling.

But he had already turned back to staring around the milling bodies toward the dark entrance.

“H.”

“What?” he said, still looking. 

“Look at me.” He did. “You look hot and beautiful tonight. Now get in there and break his heart.”

Reaching for the door handle, he nodded, feeling an old confidence in that. He thanked the second valet who’d reached them and had opened his door. And he decided to think no more of failing tonight.

—

“Shit,” he whispered as soon as he entered the lobby, making Elliot turn and look at him.

Moving from the entrance, away from the noisy, excited crowd coming in and out and already pointing excitedly at them, he brought his hand close to his body and pointed a finger at his bare right hand. Elliot lowered his gaze to it.

“I forgot my engagement ring.”

Elliot’s eyebrows went up. “Well, good evening, Dr. Freud. It appears your theories are in fact correct.”

“Gimme your ring.”

“Uh, no.”

“I’ll wear it backwards so just the silver band shows. Hand it over.”

“No,” Elliot said, sliding his hands into his pockets. “You know I feel naked without it.”

“Elliot—”

“H, he won’t notice.”

“It’s the first thing he’ll notice.”

His back to their onlookers, Elliot was smiling fondly at him. “Look at you. Mrs. Sean Jackson. _Goodness,_ I forgot my _ring!_ Is my hair okay? Oh, I _do_ hope I don’t look too assertive in this outfit. Is this really us going into Ten?”

With no ring forthcoming, he was no longer listening to Elliot and had begun moving closer to the lounge entrance to peek inside.

Ten had two sections to it, the lounge up front and a more intimate bar area in the back. They weren’t going anywhere near that bar tonight. In fact he was hoping Sean didn’t even know that part existed. And quickly sweeping the lobby, he wasn’t seeing anyone he knew. The message really seemed to have gotten across that this wasn’t the place to act out. Because as God and all his exes knew, there would be Blake’s.

Inside the lounge, couches were squared off around the low chess and domino tables, edged by ice-filled drink wells already filled with drinks. To a far side a two-lane bowling alley was going strong, the crack and rumble adding to the noisy fun. And there, on a couch situated strategically for all to see, was Sean Jackson. Sneakered foot up against the edge of their table, arm slung along the back of the couch, a loose swarm of very thrilled men brandishing phones formed around him. 

Sean somehow looked both tense and calm. If anything was amiss, the whirlpool of couples and singles happily squeezing in around him for group shots and selfies didn’t seem to notice. Even though Sean was staring at all of them in an odd way before smiling into their phones. And as the men left, some stroking his chest and others dropping kisses on his cheek, Sean just angled up a subtle look, as if trying to figure out why they would do that.

Sean was in jeans and a faded bottle green T-shirt bearing faded yellow writing, and even from where he stood he could see how it molded to his body and showed off his chest and his big, corded arms. Hair shining under the lights, his beard and mustache a little grown in over the last couple of days looking longer and spikier. Even from where he stood it was blaring that tonight Sean was tipping the hotness scale at scorching. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who’d dressed to conquer.

He tried peering around the swarm. Petey was nowhere in sight. But Craig was seated in an armchair opposite Sean and watching the happenings like watching a really interesting movie. 

He could almost understand Craig at that moment. This _wasn’t_ a sight he’d ever imagined seeing. Not that Ten was a place to worry about—he’d never done anything…overt here—but this had been the location of a few drunken episodes last November. And with bottle service already on, the wet necks of wine and vodka bottles sticking out of the ice, given his current state, things might prove unknowable. He’d never considered himself a drinker before, but he’d been slammed in the face trying to self-medicate his withdrawal last winter and had learned to leave presumptions aside. Who knew what dormant genes might be triggered from a brand new type of Sean-related stress.

He glanced at Elliot.

Elliot stood wordlessly, patiently waiting. With his hands in his pockets still safeguarding his ring, Elliot had the demeanor of someone merely waiting for their friend to find their concert tickets so they could go in.

He knew better than to try and keep up with Elliot, who could be the king of drama when the mood struck, yet could pull off a complete cool from seemingly nowhere when it came time for the shootout. While he faltered after. He was nervous and disorientated. And no amount of pep talking was going to help. While Elliot coolly eyed him, reminding him that Elliot had been speaking and acting overly casual considering the situation, he struggled to find his own calm. But he was struggling with the sensations of seeing Sean sitting there, in the lounge at Ten, where he used to sit pining for him. It was no longer a matter of planning or dreading. Sean was officially in his social life. It was like having the strangest lucid dream of all time.

“Ready?” Elliot asked, and without waiting for an answer, started in.

With no more room to think, he followed. 

*


	5. Chapter 5

For most of his life, the freedom to enter a gay bar had been a dream. To just stroll in, head to the bar, say hi to the bartender like they were old friends, and order a beer. Then kick back and hope there was some decent music going in the background.

But for a long time now, he’d been okay with it remaining a nice dream. Meat markets just weren’t his style. In college days he might have enjoyed some of the thrill. How hot would it have been, being twenty-one and getting picked up by an older grad student… maybe in for the weekend from Stanford business school. But even then he had to wonder whether he’d have really enjoyed hanging out, waiting to be picked up. His turn-ons were one-on-ones, being out in nature, being touched by someone he had feelings for. Not by a perfect stranger. He’d known that since he was a teenager. So what would he had enjoyed about a bar? And likely, his experiences wouldn’t have involved some stroke of luck with an adorable grad student. It would have been that stranger who didn’t know or care what he liked.

And what exactly happened in the morning after the bar pickup anyway, he’d always wondered. It wasn’t as if you expected to run into each other again on the sidelines. Or in a hotel lobby. Was it a simple I’ll call you? Based on what rules, if you were both out?

While he occupied himself pondering the mysteries of bar life, more photo seekers arrived, and he nodded and said no problem when they asked to sit and do their thing.

Across from him, Craig was making himself a second drink. Holden’s friend Petey, from the David Geffen Foundation, who’d brought him, had disappeared some time ago. Past occasionally walking by to glance nervously at him, checking in he guessed, the guy had more or less stayed away.

When Elliot had said to be on the lookout for communication from the foundation, he’d thought he’d misheard. He had no connection with David Geffen and Holden had never mentioned being associated. Geffen, he knew, was a gay icon and philanthropist. But truthfully, as with Cavanaugh and much else in Holden’s world, he’d only recently discovered that piece of information. Petey. he did remember from Holden’s penthouse that night way back in January of their fateful dinner with Alastair. And he’d been curious enough to ask how Geffen’s foundation was involved, except that Petey had seemed agitated on the drive over. Over what, he couldn’t say. But it had reminded him a lot of Kara on a particularly crazed day, when something seemed to be intrinsically freaking her out and even extracting her name would have been a problem. Consequently he’d barely exchanged words with Petey, his being “Thanks.” Craig had been waiting to seat him and offer up a drink on their arrival, and Petey had quickly vanished. So that had been that. Though he did occasionally glimpse him berating men twice his size in a hallway toward the back. 

That had been about an hour of photographs ago. Smiling into shots, wondering what invisible eyes were watching. Wondering when Holden would get there.

But suddenly a low gasp of excitement broke across the lounge, heads turning toward the entrance, and he assumed Holden was here.

—

Sean rose to his feet as he approached, causing an undercurrent of _Aww_ across the lounge and flooding him with memories of Bradford Hill. And suddenly he wanted to stop and say _Hey, wait a minute, we’ve already done this. Where it was important and actually mattered. So no need to duplicate it here. Let’s all just go home._

But he didn’t. Just held still and maintained a careful expression as Sean looked straight into his eyes, put his arm around his waist under his blazer and drew him in. Then a soft little kiss planted itself on his cheek, just beneath his eye.

It was unexpected, more intimate than he would have expected in such a setting, and it momentarily stole his breath away. And no doubt Sean could feel his pulse tripping, but Sean didn’t end it there. As if they were both in slow motion, Sean pressed a second kiss right into the side of his nose. Sean’s lips were cold from whatever he’d been drinking. Next, a cool kiss sealed itself to his lip, at an upper corner, just out of any chance of reciprocating. They weren’t kisses meant to be reciprocated. Cameras flashed. Sean didn’t seem to care.

It was like walking into a room and getting stamped all over his face: _This man belongs to…_ , however tenderly.

Sean finally slacked his arm, and he sat down and Sean settled in beside him. And immediately Sean’s arm went along the back of their couch, draping itself long and heavy across his shoulders, the platinum bracelet Sean was wearing dropping like a brand on him.

And before he knew what he was doing, he’d sat forward, away from Sean’s arm.

And then he was staring at both Elliot, who’d taken a seat, and Craig’s widened eyes.

Stunned, perfectly aware of what he’d just done, he slowly, carefully, sat back, hoping Sean would think he’d merely been getting comfortable.

Heart in his throat, he glanced at Sean.

Sean didn't appear to have noticed. 

It had been pure reflex. He was in a bar and would have reacted that way on discovering some guy’s arm suddenly on him.

But this wasn’t some guy. And he was courting trouble if he didn’t push past his nervousness and get it together.

Which also meant scanning the room for faces and heading off anyone popping over. Like Aaron at Cavanaugh. Elliot was supposed to be doing it—they hadn’t discussed it but they shouldn’t have to—but instead Elliot had sat down with his back to the room.

“It’s busy here,” Sean remarked.

He nodded, with no idea what Sean had just said.

More smiling men with phones came over just then, asking for pictures. Before they’d finished asking he was moving to accommodate them, only to realize that he was moving away from Sean. The couple stopped him, laughing, insisting they’d sit on either side of them. With a hasty, quiet, “Sure,” he moved closer to Sean, the direction he’d meant to go. If Sean was noticing anything weird about behavior he couldn’t seem to control, Sean didn’t say. The phone’s flash came on and he flashed a smile, hoping it had in fact been a smile. Then they were thanked and left alone one more. Leaving him right up against Sean, from where moving away would have been seriously noticeable. He’d just have to take a rain check on reacting weirdly to things they did a million times a day at home but were now tripping him up in public.

Glancing at Sean, it was to find Sean’s eyes downcast, around his hand.

“Where’s your ring?”

He fell very silent.

Elliot, who’d begun pouring himself a glass of chilled white Pinot, slowed and stared at Sean.

“Where is it, sweetheart?”

“It’s at the office,” he said truthfully. Then, for more self-support, “I was doing a lot of typing and was in a rush to leave and I— I think I left it on my desk.”

“You’re not sure?”

“I left it on my desk,” he repeated more firmly.

Sean didn’t look any less intent, but gave a small nod. And then eyes forward, he was now looking at Elliot slowly tasting his wine. And his already thudding heart began straining in his chest. Because suddenly, unmistakably, he was seeing something very clearly.

Elliot didn’t _like_  Sean.

He came to the realization like hearing someone telling him a big, terrible secret.

Time seemed to stand still a little as he stared at Elliot staring at Sean.

Call it anything he liked—misunderstanding, misplaced protection, Elliot’s know-it-all-ness—it didn’t change a thing. It was dislike and mistrust, and it was as obvious as Elliot sitting there making no pretense of the way he was listening to and absorbing Sean’s questions. Elliot was only waiting for an opening.

_For what?_ he wanted to ask anyone, helplessly.

Tonight he’d come ready to do the right thing. To finally bridge the gap between Sean and his friends. Since walking into Cavanaugh and seeing Sean with Craig, he’d seen what he’d been doing wrong. As in Johnston with Sean and his family, he realized that no matter how surprising or curious or incongruous—Sean didn't let anybody, especially not him, push him around, yet say the words Davey Jones and matters changed—likewise it was important that Sean see his relationship with his friends. How they interacted and supported each other. If nothing else, it might help Sean understand whatever else was coming.

Instead, he sat there at a total loss. Confused, seeing Elliot clearly feeling that there was something here that needed to be smashed. Raising fears that he might have reached this point of understanding too late. 

His heart rate had also kicked up a bit, and bizarrely, his skin had started tingling in all the spots Sean had kissed earlier. So that he was strongly resisting an urge to rub beneath his eye and against his nose. Actions that would likely get Sean raising an eyebrow and probably add another weekend of explaining to his life.

He needed to get started on breaking the ice, wherever it led. And before Elliot got any ideas.

“So,” Sean said, in the lull in photo seekers, his attention turned to him. “Come here often?”

Wrapped in figuring out how to get started, not to mention in the scents of Sean’s vanilla and roses smelling body, his thoughts had come disconnected. So it took a second to come back. What? Why was Sean asking such a question? Did he come there often? It sounded like it could be a sexy pickup line, but he couldn’t be sure it wasn’t just his imagination. Would Sean be teasing under such circumstances, dragged out and obviously defensive? Maybe, after the flower shop, but maybe not. Maybe Sean was asking him a real question.

Eyes on the dominos stacked on the gaming table, with Elliot’s eyes burning holes into his face, he slowly said, “No.”

“No?”

He turned to see Sean looking curiously at him.

“I mean— if what you’re asking is whether… Yes, I come here once in a while, if that’s what you mean.”

Sean nodded, then indicated the table with his chin. “And is it wine, vodka, or a game of dominoes when you do? I didn’t know you played dominos. You know how to mix drinks too?”

It was hard to follow Sean’s conversation. Was it double meaning? He couldn’t spare the brain power to figure it out. Especially because he was still helplessly lifting his gaze whenever someone walked by for fear it might be trouble. And suddenly his eyes were drawn past Elliot’s shoulder to where several men were leaning on the bar, all staring in their direction. Slowly, and discreetly, one of them lifted a hand and briefly waved at him. They knew each other.

He quickly dropped his gaze.

With or without his friends’ help, he was going for this. Either that or he could continue sitting there making room for something bad to happen.

Looking across their table, he met Craig’s gaze, which had never left their side of the table. 

“Hey, Craig,” he began. “So…where’s Petey?”

Instead of answering, both Craig and Elliot went still. Leaving him confused…until he realized that by all appearances, he’d completely ignored Sean’s question.

_Fuck._ Momentarily closing his eyes, he quietly calmed himself, before turning to look at Sean. And slowly shook his head. He couldn’t remember the question.

“No, you don’t mix drinks, or no you don’t play dominoes? Or what?”

Was that undertone in Sean’s voice?

Jesus Christ. This wasn’t a  lucid dream, it was an absurdist nightmare.

“I… I don’t know how to play dominoes,” he answered. _And if you ask me another fishy question, I’ll scream at you._ “I’ve never played here, I usually just— I just… get a drink after work or something.”

Sean watched him as he spoke. “That’s all you do here?”

He stopped talking. He just stared at Sean while Sean held his gaze. He could suddenly feel the warmth of Sean’s body. The silken way his chest rose and fell with his quiet breathing. And he wondered, probably for the billionth time, whether being in love got easier. Because how it was possible to want to murder someone and protect them with all your strength at the same time?

“Well, um,” he replied. “They have Apples to Apples somewhere around here…”

From the corner of his eyes he saw Elliot licking wine off his lips, his eyes on Sean. And then Elliot opening his mouth to speak. And just then, Petey came by.

_Thank God._

Sitting forward, he smiled at Petey.

“Hey, Petey. Perfect timing.”

Petey had walked up and stopped abruptly by Craig’s chair, as if he had walked right into a forcefield. One that was simultaneously draining his life force… so long as his eyes remained on Sean. Since that was where Petey’s eyes had gone, and locked. 

Dressed in a tight-fitting orange short-sleeved shirt, worn over dark jeans, a look he himself could never pull off, Petey stood out against the rest of the room like he had been painted in. His jet hair was styled in a cute swoop off his forehead, and his black eyes, intense and focused under his tightly drawn brow, were like jewels against his brown skin. Which was gleaming like it was meant to be licked. The whole effect made Petey look like the fantasy version of a guy. On nights like this it was hard not to stare.

Sean was staring.

And frankly, he would have been only too happy knowing Sean was having a typical human reaction to Petey. Or at least a typical gay male one. It would mean normal thoughts were still occurring in Sean’s head and might spell hope for a more relaxed night.

But that wasn’t what was happening.

Petey looked in existential terror. Staring at Sean as if deeply hurt, offended and upset, all at the same time, expecting to have to run for his life. Before their eyes, his skin was darkening to the new, amusing shade of reddish brown it had lately discovered and appeared to mean to set Petey afire. If Sean’s stare didn’t break him first. And Sean meanwhile wasn’t looking with any apparent interest but was instead looking as if gauging distance and speed and fully expecting to be on his feet at a moment’s notice to prevent an accident. It occurred to him vaguely that this might be how Sean looked sometimes while watching him.

The whole thing should have been very funny. Because in spite of what was so obviously impending doom, gross sabotage by his infatuation for Sean, Petey was still trying to maintain a professional air and appeared determined to do his host duties. But because Sean was watching Petey with the intensity of his own worry, the standoff was only getting incrementally worse. 

So that even before attempting introductions, he knew this wasn’t going to go as planned.

Petey, poor thing, nevertheless attempted host duties. Staring hotly at Sean, Petey’s perfectly curved mouth slowly parted. For a moment nothing came out…and then Petey began speaking with a grave yet somehow frantic tone, like someone on an executioner’s block delivering his last words.

“Sean, are you—” Petey stopped, looking disturbed. And then resumed. “Are you having a good time?” Another pause, another pained look. “Please let me know if there’re any problems. I’m… I’m here bec— because of you.” This time Petey looked aghast. “What I m… eant was,” but his words faded, and Petey stood there staring as though Sean had interrupted him with a suggestion that had shorted his vocal cords.

The silence kind of went on. Until he casually spoke up.

“Actually, Petey, before you continue, gimme me a sec?”

Petey turned and looked at him almost in surprise. As if he had suddenly appeared out of nowhere.

Motivating himself, he turned and summoned a smile at Sean.

“Sean, I’d like to correct a pretty poor mistake on my part. I’d like to introduce you to everyone officially. I should have done this a while ago and it’s crazy I haven’t.” He inhaled a little, nodded to himself in encouragement. “Okay, let’s start with Petey since you two probably already got to know each other on the right over.” Somehow he was able to not look at Elliot while saying that, only trying to inject some humor into a situation that was beginning to make him deeply apprehensive.

“Petey and I have known each other for… what is it, seven years now?”

He’d turned and was looking at Petey. But all he got was a rumble and loud crack from the bowling lanes, followed by an ecstatic chorus of cheers. In their midst, silence.

“You two actually have something in common,” he said to Sean.

He also wanted to ask that Sean kindly recall their first night out in Johnston. How he made every effort to interact with Sean’s friends and family at the bar. How he’d set aside his opinions and frustrations and had welcomed a man he had never met into his hotel room, gotten into a car with people he didn’t know, and spent the evening sipping virgin cocktails so he wouldn’t lose any ounce of control while waiting for him to just take him back to his hotel room already. He wanted to say, _Try and pitch in. This is not the hard part._

But he said nothing of the kind. Just smiled at Sean’s inscrutable profile.

“Petey also likes doing crazy things in cars. He just got an Acura NSX, and I’m sure you know what that is. But it’s officially the fastest, craziest thing I’ve ever been in. When he accelerates, it’s like taking off in a jet fighter on the 405. Right, Petey?”

Petey was immobile. Pressed up against Craig’s chair, roasting browner by the second, staring in disarray at Sean. Until Petey somehow managed to break Sean’s stare, at which point his composure simply crumpled. Casting one last, apologetic look his way, Petey stripped himself from Craig’s chair and simply walked away.

If Sean thought something weird had just happened, Sean gave no indication. 

Craig meanwhile looked on after Petey, his own expression giving away everything. Under normal circumstances it would have been a short countdown before they looked up to find Craig gone from their midst. On his way to irritate and cajole Petey into doing what Petey would later view with disgust and profess to regret.

By all accounts he should have been having a great, fun night.

Instead there was only grim silence.

Pulling his arm from around him, Sean leaned forward and began pouring him a glass of white wine. The rest of the bottle Craig and Elliot had opened. Taking the cold glass from Sean, he whispered his thanks while noting that Elliot’s gaze hadn’t shifted a millimeter off Sean. Taking a sip, he quietly told Sean it was pretty good. Sean nodded and sat back, while he took a breath and persisted.

“Okay,” he said, setting down the glass of alcohol he didn’t want. “You’ve met Craig. But not from Cavanaugh, remember I introduced you—” Sean was nodding. “Right,” he said, smiling while Sean made easy eye contact with Craig. Sean really did seem to find Craig okay. But then again it was hard not to like Craig.

“What you may not know is that Craig has rhythm. We’re talking smooth moves. You think I do Alicia Keys justice? You should see Craig groove to it.”

“You do Alicia Keys justice?” Sean asked.

“I’m not gonna answer that. You know the answer to that question.”

Craig was over there smiling. He took it as encouragement.

“And then there’s Elliot,” Sean suddenly, quietly said, and his heart skidded straight into a brick wall.

Sean and Elliot were now staring at each other.

And he stared at them, a little in denial and a lot in disbelief.

But trying to stabilize, he laughed lightly. “Wait, don’t tell me I  _haven’t_ introduced you two,” he joked. “How is that even possible?”

Another loud crash and crash from the bowling alley. Loud as thunder.

“Unbelievable. Sean, this is Elliot. We were at USC and Stanford, with Elliot attending the law school. Elliot, this is Sean. He and I are getting married.” 

He broke into laughter.

No one else did.

Neither Sean nor Elliot adjusted their stares. 

And unless he was finally going crazy, Sean had gotten a look he recognized, as being the same he’d likely worn those first few days watching Sean and Davey together, before he’d talked with Allison. For God’s sake, hadn’t Sean believed anything he’d said about Elliot?

“College, huh?” Sean slowly said.

“Yup,” Elliot slowly replied.

He could have held his head.

Craig picked up his drink, sat back, and crossed his legs.

“That’s a lot of history,” Sean went on.

“Tons.”

“Yeah but— I mean, who even remembers,” he chipped in.

“I do,” Elliot quietly said.

Discreetly cutting Elliot a look, he meant to glare at him, but Elliot still wasn’t looking at him, just at Sean.

And then his heart jumped as suddenly, past Elliot’s shoulder at the bar, Saddiq had straightened with his drink. Startled, he almost called out for him to stay right where he was.

But Saddiq was a cool guy. Respected and kept to himself. So it wasn’t too surprising that without so much as a last look, Saddiq simply picked up his drink and walked in the opposite direction from where they were, toward the bar in the back. While next to him Sean had become very still, his eyes now a pair of faint blue lasers on Elliot. A look he’d seen many times in highlight videos of Sean on the field watching an opponent’s movements.

“Really?” Sean asked. “You remember _tons,_ that far back?”

“Oh, yeah.”

Again he tried laughing. But this time it didn’t even sound like laughter.

He turned to Sean and tried getting him to look at him instead trying to literally burn Elliot with his eyes.

“Tons of dumb things you do as a kid,” he said flippantly. “Mostly embarrassing stuff you’d rather forget.” Elliot almost rolled his eyes. He could see it from the corner of his.

“Yet I remember pretty much all of it,” Elliot said.

Shrugging, he shook his head at Sean, to say he had no idea what Elliot was talking about. Sean dropped his gaze in reaching for his drink, and he quickly turned and glared at Elliot.

Now Elliot delivered his eye roll.

He glanced at Craig in disbelief, looking for an assist. But Craig was fully in audience mode, watching their interplay with the immediacy of live theater. So he looked questioningly again at Elliot. But it was pointless. Elliot’s eyes weren’t on him.

“So, Sean,” Elliot said, casually. And here, at last, was trouble. “You know you kept Holden away from us for quite a while.”

“When was that?”

“Um…I’d say… the last four years?”

Stunned, he just stared at Elliot.

Seated forward, wine glass dangling from his fingers, Elliot too was in a mode, his attention firmly on Sean.

“Imagine our confusion for three whole years,” Elliot said. “Of course now we understand the circumstances. The need for secrecy. But imagine three years of Holden sporadically disappearing from everywhere, from January to end of summer, when we’re used to seeing him quite regularly. It was really something. You can’t imaging the theories we came up with.”

Beside him, Sean was silent.

And he was still too stunned to interrupt.

“Holden never spoke about it. Ever. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t that we expected detailed memos. It was just this… _intermittent white space..._ where there should have been _something._ So much so that even after you came out, in that crazy media period when you were being romantically linked with every living being with an XY chromosome, we still didn’t make the connection. Why would we? We hadn’t even known Holden’s secret destination to be Malibu. It wasn’t until the Glaad Awards and you were aired kissing. Shocker? You could say that.”

Bit by bit, it had started sinking in.

That this was his fault. He carried all the blame. After years of deliberately keeping these two, most important parts of himself apart, he was now dealing with the consequences. Which was that he didn’t have the words to communicate with the two of them at the same time. No words, no context that logically bridged the gap. Elliot knew him as a certain type of person, and Sean had only ever gotten certain amounts data. There were words Sean didn’t want to hear, and explanations Elliot wasn’t interested in.

And neither seemed contented to let him move at his own pace!

“But ultimately,” Elliot said. “It was a relief to… you know…”

No, he didn’t know. And Sean didn't appear to either.

“Fill in the gaps,” Elliot supplied, even though no one had asked. “It was a relief to fill in the gaps.”

Sean had long since gone deathly quiet. 

“It’s the gaps that bother you?” Sean now asked.

“Well,” Elliot said. “I’m a lawyer, so I guess gaps always look like… a problem. Causes an itch to fill them.”

“So now you know.”

“Now we know,” Elliot agreed. “And understand. Finding it that much easier to forgive Holden.”

And now Elliot smiled.

It was his rare, real smile. The one that made him look perfect and very handsome and had guys tripping over themselves to leave their numbers. 

But it only left Sean perfectly still, his skin so hot that when Sean finally shifted, he instinctually placed a hand on Sean’s thigh. And then could have died of shame when Sean gave him a small look, disappointment all over his face that he would think he needed restraining.

—

The night was over and Elliot was nowhere to be found.

Coming slowly toward him through the crowd was Craig, and and angry as he way, he pretended he wasn’t seeing him. He was on the sidewalk up from the bar, waiting were the bouncer had told him for Elliot’s pickup.

Craig reached him with an attentive look in his eyes. “Petey’s off with Sean. I’ll get you home.”

“I’m waiting for Elliot,” he said shortly.

“He said to handle getting you home. I guess he doesn’t want you yelling at him in the car.”

Trying not to pace, he shoved his hand into his hair and stared at Craig. “Am I going crazy, or is he? _Gaps?_ Is he nuts?”

“Elliot did you a favor. And I think Sean got that. If I were you I’d get on it.”

Slowly, he lowered his arm, and asked, “What?”

Craig’s Mercedes was swiftly pulled up and Craig turned, handing his ticket and a tip to the attendant who jumped out.

“Come on,” Craig said. “Let’s get you home.”

—

“He wanted Sean to understand that you filling in the gaps for us, us finally getting to know what you were up to all those years we wondered, brought peace of mind to your friends. And that it might do the same for him. That is the problem, isn’t it? That he’s avoiding knowing? That he doesn’t want to? Elliot is just hinting that he go ahead and ask questions that might actually close that chapter for both of you.”

They were just pulling into Sean’s cul-de-sac. The black SUV with the round-the-clock bodyguards was parked at the street’s entrance, its tinted windows hiding its occupants. As they slowly passed, likely recognizing Craig’s license plates, the SUV’s lights briefly flashed in the rearview. He noted it in the side mirror while Craig spoke and he didn’t respond.

Craig pulled into Sean’s driveway, into the empty space he usually parked in and where, just a couple nights ago, he’d sat seeing himself losing it at Sean’s front door. 

“Thanks,” he said, not looking at the door.

Getting out, he leaned down and looked at Craig. “But Elliot should know better.” 

Straightening, he shut the door and turned toward Sean’s front door.

*


	6. Chapter 6

He stood at Sean’s bedroom door watching Sean strip off his bracelet and watch, setting them on a ledge near the TV.

“You don’t want me coming over anymore?” he asked, in response to a statement Sean hadn’t made. Sean had merely said he needn’t have come, that there wasn’t a problem that needed following up. “I guess it’s easier to be mad at me from afar.”

“I’m not mad at you, sweetheart. Or at your friends.”

“You are though.”

A quiet breath he didn’t miss escaped Sean. 

“I’d tell you if I were.”

“Then who are you mad at? Because you’re mad at someone and honestly, I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

Sean moved toward the glass walls and sat on a computer desk built into the wall, facing him. Sean’s eyes on him were hard to read. Yet strangely, his manner spoke of openness. Completely incongruent with the tense evening they’d just had.

“I liked yesterday,” Sean said, calmly. “The breakfast. That was a nice surprise. And then later, at the flower shop. I liked what even better.”

“Me too,” he hastily said.

“Okay, so how ‘bout we just take this one day at a time then. Please? I’m gonna do this, go out with you and your friends the way you came to Johnston and did everything you could to become a part of my family. Ultimately, it’s the right thing to do. I’ve had the breakfast and it didn’t kill me.”

Sean suddenly stopped, momentarily looked out the shaded glass toward the gold-flecked night ocean. Yellow lights from the coast seemed to be swimming on its surface.

“I’m not saying I’m interested in your former lifestyle,” Sean continued. “Getting to know it in detail or anything like that. But I’ve lived through it once, so I’m sure I’ll survive seeing it from this end. All we gotta do, Holden, is not rub it in. Coming here like this…bringing it all up every time we go through something. Let’s not do that. We come home, let’s just be together. But if you can’t handle it that way… then I’m gonna have to ask you to stay in Westwood until you can. I need you in other ways. Not like this.”

Still at the entrance, he was without a response. Then he slowly went and stood before him. Sean pulled him closer, bringing him between his legs. In his soft, pretty green T-shirt, Sean looked and smelled like a big warm drop of pure fantasy. He stroked his fingers into his beard, barely breathing as Sean turned into his touch, settling his face into his palm like a puppy looking for love.

How was he constantly fucking this up?

“Do you mean being together to include no more couch patrol for me, ever, no matter what I do?”

“No.”

“It’s weird on that couch without you. I notice spaces that aren’t there when you’re not on it. Like, I reach over to touch you and it’s just empty air. Doesn’t your bed get that feeling when I’m not there?”

Sean had stared smiling. He could feel his lips pulling against his palm.

“Sean, I’m sorry about Elliot,” he said softly. “He’s one of the sweetest, most wonderful guys in the world, and I don’t know why he’s so angry at you. I’ll talk to him. I’ll—”

“He’s not angry, he’s just…” but Sean stopped talking.

“He’s what? Do you get this? Because I don’t.”

Sean sighed quietly. “He’s just doing what a best bud does. Being protective. I had to physically threaten Davey to keep him away from you in Johnston. Don’t mind how easy he comes off, he coulda really stressed you.”

“You’re protecting him. Which is weird enough, but on top of him acting so incredibly stupid towards you, I don’t even know what to think.”

“Sweetheart,” Sean said softly. “Let it go.”

He could think of nothing else to say. But the thing was, he knew Elliot, and either he did something to stop this or it would worsen. Especially because Elliot was feeling so damned righteous against what he saw as Sean’s entitled behavior.

Releasing a frustrated breath, he dropped his hand and turned away. Or tried to. Sean held his wrist.

“Where’re you going?”

“Back to Westwood, seeing as I’m not needed here.”

“But I just told you I need you.”

“I find that hard to believe, frankly. You seem to already have all the answers, and anything you say you need me for would just be you trying not to make me feel useless.”

Sean dropped his head and laughed quietly. And then looked up shyly at him. “Why don’t you put your hand somewhere and see what I mean.”

“See what you mean about what?”

“Needing you.”

He eyed him. “Where?”

“Anywhere. Just make sure it’s on me.”

About to ask where else he’d put his hands, he ditched the question on remembering the more than one occasion he’d mixed that up. When, attempting to add spice to their sex lives as those articles advised, he’d meant to sexually excite Sean by simulating touching or stroking various food and other objects around them. Only to catch Sean slipping him perplexed looks. When he’d explained himself, Sean had simply suggested that he try touching and stroking him instead.

But doing so now, he only managed to touch Sean’s arm, too estranged by the evening to so easily come down. Sean just waited, staring at him with his soft eyes in his hard face. So he touched him some more, brushing his fingers against the soft beard he could never get enough of, tracing the lines of his mouth.

“Are we letting go?” Sean asked.

“I don’t know,” he replied, losing his breath as Sean’s hands found their way to his thighs. But he was. Otherwise he’d be failing at his own mandate to give priority to the man he loved.

“Looks like it,” Sean whispered, sliding his hands a little farther up the back of his thighs, head down and interestedly watching him slowly hardening to his touch. The sweetest heat had started coming off Sean’s neck and shoulders, making his beating heart slow, deepen. Sliding his hands down, he joined them to where Sean’s were, tangling their fingers, watching in pleasure as Sean’s skin slowly flushed.

It was just this easy. When they were on the same page at the same time, it seemed they could get nothing wrong. So he could do this. He could keep his eyes on his prize. 

Trailing up, he touched Sean’s arms lightly, all the way underneath the short sleeves of the T-shirt. And Sean flushed more and then more, like so much more was going on in his head. And again he remembered their last morning in Miami. That, as much as he had become confident enough to explore his own sexuality, he was also delving deeper into Sean’s. The very place he was determined to spend the rest of their summer. Recalling some vague technique of “being present” that Sean had tried showing him during his aromatherapy learning days, he focused on his actions as he stroked the backs of Sean’s arms, felt pleasure trickle through him, felt the world contracting around them. Could hardly believe it was working.

Sean’s room seemed to slowly dim around him, the sounds of the ocean receding and sounding not quite so menacing.

“How was your visit with Harry Winston?” he asked softly, pleased he’d remembered. “Nothing like a little diamond and gold porn to get a groom excited for his wedding, I take it. If the horny phone call hadn’t given it away.”

Sean was smiling. Head still down, gaze still on his body. 

“They missed you,” Sean replied. “I missed you.”

“You so didn’t.”

“But I called you in the middle of it to tell you just how much and you wouldn’t let me.”

“True,” he said softly, enjoying the out of this world feeling of stroking warm, flexing muscle, while he got harder. “I did feel very missed by your mid-morning sexual harassment.”

By now Sean’s hands were at his waist, under his blazer, massaging him. Hugging him as closely as his shirt and all but stopping his heart.

“You wanna tell me about this shirt?”

He couldn’t help smiling. “It’s not so much the telling…”

Sean slipped his fingers between the button holes. “As the showing?”

His breaths shallowed, shook as they left him, as Sean’s fingers slid in and out, making him suddenly get the concept of stroking inanimate objects for sexual pleasure.

“How’d you know?”

“I’ve had some time to think about it.”

Sean looked up at him.

“Undress.”

His heart stopped and his erection throbbed so hard he couldn’t move. It should have been his cue to do a sexy strip or something, but his hair seemed to be on fire from Sean’s commanding tone. He tried but only one hand attempted to do what Sean asked, the other involuntarily digging in and pulling on Sean’s arm. Sean looked momentarily confused, then realizing that tonight wasn’t going to be the most coordinated, so then just gently brought him closer, kissed his collar bone beneath the shirt, and expertly slipped free his topmost button.

*


	7. Chapter 7

The next morning while placing his breakfast plates in Sean’s dishwasher, he was considering something from last night. That they’d gone to a gay bar together for the first time in their relationship. It hadn’t occurred to him until that morning.

Their life together was progressing despite the bombs along the way and he didn’t want to, hadn’t planned on, missing these moments. While wasn’t eager to bring up memories of how the night had played out, still, that morning he was dying to know what Sean had thought of their outing.

He left the kitchen and entered the guest bathroom, and after rinsing his mouth and checking his appearance in the mirror, proceeded to Sean’s bedroom where he crossed into the sun room slash gym facing the ocean.

After the media circus around Sean’s coming out, Sean had replaced his automated, nearly invisible blinds, ones which dimmed the house and merely amplified Sean’s dislike for feeling actually housed, with a different automated, very disconcerting gauzy thing. The new privacy measure descended down the glass walls from the ceiling, making them opaque from outside, and inside they cast a hazy, dreamy light. And he wouldn’t have had an opinion at all, except that he found the effect mildly terrifying, for some reason. Especially with the backdrop of the ocean beyond.

That morning, however, terror found no room in his mind. 

Sean was reclined on a workout bench, naked except for a pair of gym shorts with the NFL logo that stopped mid-thigh, and was made of activewear material that would probably glide like lubrication. The shorts had drawstrings that were yellow for Chargers gold and which Sean hadn’t tied and seemed there for someone, him, to use and abuse. Sean was drenched in sweat on the bench, just then setting down a pair of dumbbells on racks on either side of him. He stood at the room’s wide entrance, bathed in the strange light from the slanted glass walls, staring at the scene, with flashes of Sean’s training camp last summer reminding him to be very still. After all, there was consciously and _contentiously_ embarking on a sexual discover journey and then there was the abyss he’d fallen into last year. Actually, he didn’t mind either way. But last year he’d dragged Sean along without noticing how it was wrecking things for his soft-hearted partner. And Miami was proof enough that he should know what he was doing as they returned there. So as much as he would have loved to harness Sean to that bench and find a proper use for half the equipment in the room, just then he filed his thoughts away.

The rest of the large room was taken up by a just couple of gym equipment, whose purpose he actually knew. One was a counterweight thing that Sean stood at, grasped hand harnesses and just pulled at a huge amount of weight. The other was a stand-up workout structure that exhausted him just looking at it. Meant for pull ups, chin ups, upside down crunches, awful things like that.

Sean let out a huge breath and laid back, apparently having reached a rest period.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Sean said, pulling a towel from a rack to wipe his face. “You wanna come over here?”

“I can’t,” he said. “I’m dressed for work.”

“Come over here,” Sean said, breathless from his exertions.

He wrinkled his brow at Sean’s prone body.

“Please?” Sean said.

“Did you want something?”

There was silence. Sean returned the towel and waited.

“Um, no,” he said firmly. “Plus Redmond’ll be here in five minutes.”

“The car can wait. Get yourself over here.”

Giving in, he’d come to get answers anyway, he made his way over and stood next to the bench, looking down at him. “What?” he asked.

Sean reached for his knee, pulling until he was shifting toward him, right up against the bench. “Sean, no,” he protested, still being moved, until to save his knees, he had to straddle him. 

Sitting up straight, staring down at Sean, he pretended Sean’s stiffening arousal wasn’t trying to ruin his suit. Never mind that it was already absorbing Sean’s sweat. But his gaze zig-zagged down Sean’s wet chest and for a fast, exciting, moment he convinced himself he was on the wrong side of this argument. He had never taken advantage of Sean’s workouts, because it was part of Sean’s job to stay fit and he’d just be jeopardizing Sean’s efforts. But right now that seemed shortsighted and even wasteful. Shouldn't he be in here every morning getting bench pressed then fucked. That would be the smart gay man’s approach.

Sean meanwhile, casually propped with a hand behind his head, slid his hand around to hold him by his ass. And then just stared at him. From his hair, across his chest, down to his crotch.

“I like this suit,” Sean said.

“Enough to use it for a workout towel, evidently.” Why did he always wonder why their life was so crazy. They were both out of their minds.

Sean was breathing deeply, slowing his heart rate. Another one of those things his own trainer—and he used the term as loosely as humanly possible—was always trying to convince him was correct physiologically, but was madness when you were gasping to get your breath back. Sean just made it look not only easy but hot as well.

His breathing steadied, Sean’s eyes had settled in his crotch.

“You wanted to say something to me?”

“I…wanted to _ask_ you something,” he gently started. “About yesterday evening. About…you know…being together in a gay bar. It was a first for us. Did you enjoy yourself?” And then, taking a calculated risk, he lightly added, “I mean besides getting felt up by all those guys taking pictures. LA’s gay scene can be…kinda overfamiliar in its approach.”

Sean suddenly quieted, his jaw tightening and his gaze shifting a little.

A calculated risk. But he waited.

Many of the men who frequented Ten were men whose lives, under different stars, might have been his or Sean’s. Stories of incredible difficulties over being gay, things he couldn’t fathom much less truly understand. They’d definitely put Sean through some light paces with all the touching and kissing, but he would defend their want or need to do so any day. Petey had wanted Sean at Ten for a reason, and in the bright light of day, he agreed even more.

Sean however didn’t appear in a rush to say anything. Whether to praise, condemn or complain.

“It was different,” Sean finally said.

He waited, watching him.

He wanted to tease whether it was different than being groped by NFL fans, but Sean had fallen into a contemplative silence and it was dinging something in his head. However Sean’s hand on his backside was causing havoc and in a minute he’d definitely have to change for work. Out of breath, he tapped Sean’s chest to indicate surrender and Sean looked up, almost surprised. But Sean stopped, his eyes again lowered.

“I liked seeing the other couples…” Sean said. “And I liked being a part of that. That _we_ were a part of that.”

But the state of sudden suspension had done something. It had finally allowed him to see the evening with all its pieces falling in place.

Stripped of his own tensions, of Elliot and everything else, he was suddenly entering the lounge all over again and seeing what there was to see. Sean not just tense and watchful for another Joel or Darren, but of the immediacy of the men harmlessly draped all over him. The stolen looks Sean had given them…as though he had never seen gay men in his life. And understanding simply clicked into place.

Touching Sean on his mustache, feeling the warm breaths on his finger, he waited until Sean looked up at him.

“Was that your first time in a gay bar?”

Sean didn’t say anything. Just looked at him.

It couldn’t have been. There had been Bootleggers.

But… Bootleggers was just that big commercial gay club he’d been referring to. Places half full of straight people and college kids. Where you weren’t gay is you didn’t want to be. And, Sean had gone with a straight guy, never mind whatever had happened that Sean had banned Davey from talking about. Ten was none of that, and for Sean, it might have been something entirely new.

Sean still hadn’t answered his question, and didn’t seem to know what to say. Whereas he couldn’t believe himself. Why hadn’t he considered that? He could have made the experience so much better for Sean, instead of everything being wrapped in his own problems as if that was all there was in the world.

“You were a hit,” he said softly.

Sean lowered his gaze and smiled.

His heart melted into a puddle. “It’s okay,” he said. “You can have LA and I’ll stay popular in Johnston.”

Sean raised soft blue eyes at him. “It was a really cool atmosphere. I’m glad you were there with me.”

“It was my privilege, Sean.”

“Maybe next time we can hunt down that box of Apples to Apples you said they have.”

He laughed. “I’d crush you in a game.”

“I don’t doubt it. I’d worry about losing you to Paula.”

He was still laughing when Sean’s eyes subtly changed and Sean’s gaze settled on him with clear intent. On him being back to where it had been before. And judging by Sean’s hand movements on his ass, it would result in him having to change his clothes. Probably already too late seeing as his pants had already toweled most of the sweat off Sean’s thighs.

And then as if on cue, a car honked outside.

But Sean didn’t break stride. “If I remember correctly,” he said, “you don’t mind a little workout sweat.”

“When I’m not dressed and about to go to work. Didn’t you hear Redmond just now? You can get a kiss and then I have to go.”

Hand firmly gripping him, Sean slowly sat forward. Leveraging himself into a higher sitting position and then just remaining suspended there, as if held up by invisible ropes. Astonishing him, despite what he’d seen Sean capable of doing with his physicality. His ab muscles had started aching just seeing it.

“Reach under and tilt up the bench a little more.”

Obediently, he leaned forward and found the lever under the steel bench, sighing quietly as it had involved gluing himself to Sean’s chest and now he had also toweled off most of Sean’s chest. He looked down at himself. He could let it dry, but he’d spend the rest of the day faintly reeking of sweat. 

Reclined once more, but much closer to him this time and his hand freed, Sean palmed his cock. Between both hands, he was soon to be a mess.

He firmly shook his head. “I have a schedule to keep. And Sean, the stricter I adhere to it, the more time I’ll have for us.”

Sean held his eyes, his hands unmoving. Hard and warm as marble. 

“Okay,” Sean softly said.

He wanted to ask okay what. His vision was blurring and he’d forgotten what they were talking about. Sean’s hands on him was like being drugged. And the naked chest before him… Sean was done with his workout, wasn’t he? He could… just be like a good coach and wipe him down. That was what coaches did, unless he was very badly mistaken.

Sean was watching him like a drug pusher. “Can I still get that goodbye kiss?”

“Well— first we should… get you dry…” his voice faded as he reached over and lifted a towel from the rack. Then starting from Sean’s shoulders, he sat back comfortably and wiped him down. In long, slow motions all the way down until he bumped Sean’s hand sitting on his cock. Either Sean’s hand was having an erection or he was. Sean slowly began undoing his belt.

“I’ll probably injure myself in this position,” he said weakly.

“I’ve got you.”

And somehow Sean got his hand inside his pants, into his boxers, his palm smoothing over his wet cock. The hand behind him also moved inside his pants, got under and palmed his ass, digging into his flesh. He gripped the bar behind Sean’s head and gripped Sean’s shoulder with the towel still in his hand. He heard a whisper, “Stand up a little,” and mindlessly lifted himself. While Sean’s hands came off him, he felt Sean’s legs shift and move, then those hands were back on him, gently bringing him down. Now Sean was naked, his cock lying against his stomach and leaving it glistening wherever his tip touched.

“Kiss me,” Sean whispered.

He couldn’t make his gaze shift from Sean’s body. The tip of his tongue felt like it would tingle for the rest of his life if it didn’t taste some of what he was seeing. Touching his index finger to it, he slowly swiped at the trail that was varnishing Sean’s skin, brought it back to his tongue. And licked hard a few times. Sean groaned softly, writhing a bit under him. Taking his time, he got as much of it off Sean’s cock and stomach as he could, licking his fingertip clean each time. While Sean laid there, alternately writhing and giving him dreamy looks. When his tongue was satiated he leaned forward and kissed his chest, licked his nipples, kissed his neck, his jaw, then pushed his lips gently against his, kissing him again and again until Sean was panting steadily, massaging his cock and ass and setting much too short a countdown to his orgasm. Holding him by his torso, he fused their mouths, sucked and licked his tongue until he couldn’t tell whether he was coming in Sean’s mouth or in his hand. He whispered the incredibly delicious confusion into Sean’s mouth, and Sean kissed and swallowed ever word. Until he was all out… of words, of breath, of come. And was a complete mess in his pants.

Wrapped in each other’s arms, they continued their unbroken kiss, until he lifted his lips, kissed him once more, and moved off him, onto his knees.

—

After Holden left, he just stayed where he was, naked as the day he was born and covered in sweat and come. Opening his eyes a short time later, he realized he’d dozed off. Fuck, it was a near miracle he was still alive. Holden had better resign himself to a day of mushy texts.

It was an hour or so later after he’d rinsed off and changed into swim trunks, that he realized he hadn’t talked to or shown Holden the Patek campaign concepts. He realized it because he was standing in his living room staring at a missed call from Kara. As soon as he remembered why she’d be calling—preps for Oprah weren’t until next week and they’d already talked after Cavanaugh—he paled.

He looked toward the dining table where the oversized artwork portfolios lay, still waiting for him. Crap. And after having delayed Holden that morning he definitely wasn’t about to go to Century City and impose on his workday.

The fact was, he could make a decision on the campaign on his own. He’d never sought Holden’s input on previous brand campaigns. But this was somehow different. He loved the campaign so much and wanted them both involved. He’d talk to Holden tonight without fail. Kara could get her answer tomorrow.

So decided, he called her. After he’d finished apologizing and explaining, she said, “Paula’s already told them yes.”

He raised his eyebrows. “What?”

“You heard me,” she said firmly, in a tone she reserved for when he pretended not to. But he wasn’t pretending now. “They just needed a yes or no, Sean. I think I actually ran out of ways to say that. We can always change our minds later, we just needed to trigger the project for a spring-summer shoot. And Paula said since she got you the endorsement in the first place, you can call her if you have any problems.”

Well, he wasn’t about to do that. And he could gripe all he wanted about her making good on her threat to bring Paula into it, but the fact was that he’d been busy giving out free rides that morning when he could have been taking care of it instead.

“We’re good,” he said. “And thanks. So what’s next?”

“I’ve scheduled a meeting with the ad agency, which should give you a concrete timeframe to talk to Holden.”

“Right. Yeah, no problem. I’ll look out for the update to the schedule.”

Call ended, he took a minute to check the rest of his messages. First up was a text from Davey. _Saw you on Instagram gaying it up. Get any lap dances?_ He didn’t bother replying. He needed to call Davey later anyway to discuss England and their tuxes. Next was a text from Allison that made him feel very loved, since she knew what last night had been for him, and he set a reminder to call her back. A reminder to go with the rest for the wedding task reminders. There were also emails from Marissa that needed looking at. And since Holden had decreed a twenty-four turnaround, that was probably most of his day.

He looked at the last message from Alastair. It had been about Cavanaugh. Like his son, chatty as they both were, their messages were always brief. _Good breakfast. Glad you met some folks._ He wondered whether there’d be one about last night. He hadn’t seen any of the pictures online yet, unlike a certain brother of his who clearly had nothing better to do, but he hoped all those smiles he’d summoned had looked natural and not tense.

Looking through the rest of his calendar, he saw mostly Geffen Foundation color coded events. He’d never have believed it, but wedding tasks had actually slipped into the okay column. And while their publicity tour seemed to have started on the right foot, that wasn’t saying much. That article was still out there.

Their next event was a benefit, the kind of events he usually preferred staying away from. The kind where people with a little too much privilege stood around holding drinks and waiting for an opportunity to say something fucked up to you. Now add to it not only privilege but something more to prove. The hell with them though. He was already the winner here. He could face whatever anger toward Holden, but that was only between the two of them. No one else got to break them up.

Anyway, for now he planned on getting out on the water for as long as he could for the day and take his time reliving his stellar morning.

He missed like crazy past summers when Holden would ditch going into the office for days and come spend time with him in the shade of his patio. Tell him mundane things and somehow making it sound like the most interesting things he’d ever heard. Smiling at him and making him feel like his heart was ripping itself in two and offering him one half. Those were the offseasons he wanted back and he refused to believe that those days were permanently gone.

Stepping out onto the patio and sliding the glass closed behind him, he likewise slid shut any thoughts about _gaps._

*

Even by afternoon there were no messages from Elliot, apologies or otherwise. No matter, he had one all ready to send him. 

What he had gotten were lots of other texts. _“Nice going.” “Hope you had fun.” “Not at all staged.” “Is Blake’s on your parade route?”_ Also texts from Darren, none of which he read.

Well, one down anyway. Next up was an art benefit.

At that moment he was on a conference call with London, keeping up by simply turning pages. Craig was out of the office until Monday, though they’d be seeing at the benefit. And he was only half listening to the call, half contemplating whether to just call Petey and ask for the guest list.

He needed to focus. Earlier, on leaving a manager’s office, he’d nearly questioned his sanity when he’d caught his reflection on a glass wall and saw that he was wearing a charcoal suit and not a tan one. When he fully remembered dressing in the latter that morning. It had only taken a second to remember why, but it had been one hell of a long second. Never mind that he was still half melted from the experience and that he’d been in the manager’s office precisely because he’d missed the morning meeting and had to be brought up to speed.

It had freaked him out and made him realize he wasn’t as together as he needed to be. As he should be going forward.

Eventually he accepted that there was no point in calling Petey for the guest list. Petey wouldn’t give it to him. And even if Petey did, he could do nothing with it except know in advance exactly which of his exes was going to do something stupid.

*


	8. Chapter 8

The perpetrator turned out to be Paxton, a photographer for W magazine he’d once dated. He wasn’t however, to know for a couple of days. Not, in fact, until after the weekend when Craig returned to work on Monday.

The art benefit took place in the ballroom of the SLS Hotel, now turned gallery, sculptures on tables and walls lined with watercolors and oils of kind of interesting art. The event was to fund a national LGBTQ lobby and featured a silent auction which they joined, quietly bidding against each other to up the figures. He’d nearly laughed and spilled the beans when he realized that Sean had not only somehow discovered his assigned bidding number, but was topping his bid wherever he saw it was the highest and leaving small blue-penned Xs and Os in his wake. And there _was_ a painting he thought would look nice in his secretary Rachel’s office, so Sean was going to have to gift her if he stole his winning bid. And he’d make sure Sean gift-wrapped the thing himself to teach him a lesson.

It was his and Sean’s first official appearance as a philanthropy couple. This time he hadn’t missed the relationship landmark and intended to make it memorable for Sean. Especially since it was just the right type event—not so low-key as to fly under the radar and have his mother asking questions. Instead while there were guests who were definitely in their circles, it still wasn’t a megawatt an event that would attract everyone and have Sean feeling like he’d been thrown into a meat grinder. That was later. But here, with Sean kissing him as they’d registered for the auction, for good luck Sean had said, it had generated the type of pleased response from the organizers that would get back to both Alastair and Cecelia. And it was great how thrilled their hosts were to see Sean. Introducing him, two of the organizers turned out to be a lesbian couple Sean remembered from Cavanaugh. From Sean’s smile and handshake, it was obvious Cavanaugh was a good memory. 

If things went mostly like this, they could just sail smoothly into June. Well, he could dream anyway.

As entertainment, besides the interesting colored cocktails and hors d’oeuvres—like an artist’s color palette—a string quartet was giving a performance. Which they were currently listening to and which was holding everyone’s attention. Though not really. He was pretty sure people only pretended to like classical music. Even Sean barely listened to it and Sean was king of… well, this kind of stuff.

But as he stood beside Sean, who looked tanned from spending all of yesterday on a boat and had tried to make him join him there overnight, but they’d definitely spent the night on dry land, he was also scanning the ballroom. Discreetly looking for signs of trouble.

So far he’d spotted three men he’d dated. All had tried to make eye contact, especially Paxton who’d been hanging back a little too often for his comfort, as if he had a specific plan of action. But past that, no one looked ready to do anything. The occasion just didn’t call for it. Plus, his involvement with all three had been two and three years so.

Glancing back at the stage, he took in everyone’s rapt attention, including Sean who was holding a champagne flute and being just as attentive. Sean looked gorgeous in his evening wear, smiling and smelling of ice cream and sex.

He leaned over and Sean dipped his head. 

“This is so boring,” he whispered.

Sean cut off his laughter, then glanced at him. “It’s Schubert,” he whispered back. “It’s almost as beautiful as you.”

About rolling his eyes, he faltered as Sean finished his sentence. And then, trying not to appear flattered, he side-eyed him and lifted his glass. “I’m gonna go put some ginger ale in this champagne nevertheless.”

He left Sean smiling, an older female guest coming over to fill his spot, a guest who was the wealthy grandmother of a transgender high school boy, and who knew his family well. As he left, she began engaging Sean in whispered conversation. Probably about how great the music was. God help him if this was to become part of aromatherapy.

He made his way toward the ballroom reception hall, where the open bars were. Craig and Elliot were somewhere in the ballroom. Or least in the hotel, in Craig’s case. Petey was present as well, though he hadn’t seen him so far. Turned out the whole bringing Sean in a car with him aspect was proving more emotional an experience than Petey had bargained for. Therefore he supposed to avoid a repeat of the short circuiting at Ten, Petey was somewhere dodging Sean. God only knew how the rides over went down.

Frankly, he still considered it meaningless to ferry Sean to events independent of him. But honestly, he was no longer arguing particulars. The summer plans were officially in motion and he needed to stay sharp. Because apparently of his friends, only Craig was proving up to it.

Inside the reception hall, he made his way saying hi to guests toward a less crowded bar farther down. Pointing to the flute in his hand, he set it on the bar. “Gimme the hookup,” he said, while the bartender grinned. His flute was swooped away and replaced with a fresh one filled halfway with champagne. Then the bartender popped the top off a little green, crisply frothing bottle.

“Canadian ginger ale,” the bartender said. “It’s what you’re loving.”

Before he could answer, an all too familiar voice suddenly sounded behind him.

“Holden, didn’t you get my text?”

Barely glancing over his shoulder, he took in Darren standing there with his hands in his pockets and a self-important look on his face.

The reception hall was sparse once more, guests either back in the ballroom or checking on their auctions. But here was Darren, not even among the three exes he’d been keeping an eye on, but naturally ahead of the curve in making a special nuisance of himself. Picking up his drink, he took a moment to taste it and determine that it was what he wanted. The sweet crispness popped in his mouth, and he gave the bartender a thumbs up.

And while the bartender moved away, he turned to Darren.

“You’d better get out of here before Elliot sees you.”

“Holden, we need to talk. Don’t keep acting like this. Can we go somewhere please?”

“Is that what you said to TMZ? That you need to _talk._ ”

“That’t not what happened at all. It’s why I need you to give me a moment.” Darren had come closer, now standing at his side, touching his elbow and giving off the same weirdly desperate vibes he’d gotten from him in the men’s room at Montage. “Is Sean here?” Darren suddenly asked, casting his bizarre look toward the open ballroom doors. “I just got here. If he is, I’d like to patch things up… and… congratulate him.”

“For what? Beating you up last year?”

Darren took a deep breath, about to launch into something. But he turned to him.

“Listen,” he said frankly. “I’ve since spoken with mother, and what you said to her differs substantially from what you said to me in the men’s room.”

They were facing each other now, Darren’s eyes locked on him and intense with a dream of still winning.

“So, whatever you’re plotting—”

“I meant every word, Holden. Everything I said to you and what I said to Cecelia. It’s why I’m asking you to talk to me. I’ve apologized to you about how I behaved last summer and I’d like the chance to apologize to Sean as well. But Holden— we— we both know there’s more to it than that.”

And now Darren lowered his voice, coaxingly. “I want you to be honest with me. We had something for a long time. Longer than you’ve even _known_ him. Is it too much to know in my heart that we still mean something to each other. I’m not saying to break up with him right now, this moment.”

“No? That’s thoughtful of you.”

“I’m just saying—” 

“Stop talking, Darren.”

Elliot had arrived and was coming over his side of the bar. Elbow on the bar, Elliot ordered another Tanqueray tonic when the bartender appeared.

Darren was staring narrowly and with open hostility at Elliot.

“You know, I thought you’d get a real job after law school, Elliot, and not consider following a Wilson around for the rest of your life a career move. Or are you getting paid these days? Alastair taking pity on you?”

Elliot stopped in the motion of picking up his drink and looked startled, as if surprised that Darren could form complex thoughts. So when Elliot started laughing, throwing him a rather disturbed look, he almost snorted his drink up his nose.

“Why are you so desperately _here,_ Darren,” Elliot said. “You’re not even part of the plot.”

“You think this is bad,” he added, to Elliot. “You should have seen him last summer. He was on Alastair like a glove. So much so I think Beau started to sweat. Were there handcuffs involved, Darren? Or are you more the Velcro type?”

Elliot had cracked up, trying to take a sip of his drink.

Darren ignored him. “Holden, let’s go somewhere private.”

“No, Darren,” Elliot said, all levity gone. “Your fun’s over. Go cry to Cecelia, whatever. Just get out of here.”

“What is _wrong_ with you?” Darren said, facing Elliot now. “Why don’t you let Holden speak for himself?”

“Because you’ve never seen my dick, Darren,” Elliot said coldly. “And I have this philosophy that once someone has seen your dick and been good to it, they tend to leave a soft spot in your mind whether you like it or not. It’s just human nature. But you and I, we don’t have any soft spots between us. I’ve seen the vicious bitch you become when you don’t get your way. And I think you’re forgetting that I was there when you were busy losing what could have easily been yours once. So I’m telling you now that you need to go.”

He was sipping his champagne and not looking at either of them, but the daggers from Darren’s eyes were cutting right across his face to reach Elliot. Darren then brought his gaze to him, giving him another one of the new, incongruent looks he was having trouble matching to the supremely confident fund manager he knew Darren to be. But the hand at his elbow withdrew.

Darren stared into the side of his face for a moment, then said, “I’ll talk to you later, Holden,” and then he was gone.

Elliot looked on after Darren. “You used to find his confidence a turn on.”

He said nothing, just sipped his drink.

“You thought he was like you and all the men you knew growing up. But his confidence only lies in being an ass when not being a suck-up. What a joke.”

“He was at my place Thursday night.”

Elliot paused, staring at him. “What, before I picked you up for Ten?”

He nodded.

“What did he want?”

“Wanted up.”

“He wanted to come up and have sex with you?”

“Um…” he said, a little confused at the conclusion.

“What’d you do?”

“Told him to go before you arrived.”

Elliot glanced in the direction Darren had gone, which hadn’t been into the ballroom. Darren seemed to have left.

“Okay, you need to put a stop to this.”

“I will. I’ll put in a call to Arthur Railings. Not that it’ll do any good when he starts getting invites to my mother’s get togethers.”

“Yeah, she’s already called me. But we’ll deal with that when it comes up. For now, you need to stop engaging Darren. Because I swear, he’s the one egging TMZ. He obviously has a working plan. Darren’s persistent, but never just for the sake of it.”

“I know. I was thinking the same thing.”

No longer interested in his champagne, he set down the flute. The bartender had long ago removed himself to the other end of the bar where he was busy polishing glasses for the rush to come following a break in the quartet’s performance.

He turned to Elliot. “Craig’s in there with Sean, right?”

Elliot nodded.

His gaze still on Elliot, not even sure why he was about to ask because he wouldn’t go into detail no matter what Elliot said, he went ahead and asked anyway.

“Craig said that… before you guys knew it was Sean I was seeing… that you thought it was Yurgen. That KLM pilot I used to see.”

Elliot slanted him an astute look. “And?”

“But that once you talked to Yurgen on the phone, you realized it wasn’t him.”

“Well, I didn’t talk to him. He answered your phone and talked to _me._ That’s all it took.” Elliot looked at him. “Why? You think Sean might have experienced something similar?”

“No, we…”

His words had dried up. He still hadn’t, couldn't tell Elliot how he’d conducted his relationship with Sean. The rules he’d set and why, therefore how unlikely that Sean would have called without first informing him ahead of time. He was too ashamed.

“Anyway,” Elliot said. “It wasn’t that. Or, not just that.”

He looked at Elliot. “How could you possibly know?”

“Because neither the hostility at Elementals nor that leashed tiger we sat with at Ten could possibly be the effects of a badly timed phone call.”

Seconds passed, his heart beating painfully. He picked up his drink again and took a big swallow.

“I got your missive, by the way,” Elliot said. “It’s good you vented, because you’re going to have to be tons more together at Blake’s than you were at Ten.”

“That’s what you got from my carefully worded rant?”

Elliot didn’t reply. 

He’d said everything on his mind, his disagreement with the way Elliot was handling Sean and Elliot’s need to appreciate that he didn’t in fact have info from Sean’s side of things.

But Elliot and him were like two sides of a brain. And Elliot could read everything he was too afraid to say even in a text.

He lowered his eyes to his champagne and said nothing else.

—

What exactly was happening here, he wondered. What was this guy thinking to accomplish? As a possible assist he glanced at Craig. But Craig was just watching the guy. 

The excellent quartet had just taken a break. The quartet had been loaned by the LA Philharmonic, and after sharing impressions with some guests, he’d been preoccupied with whether to go find out if it might be the same quartet to play at their wedding. But he’d decided against it, not wanting to look clueless about his own wedding. He did know that LA Phil was sending a quartet, just not the specifics. But no need giving the impression that he was just a functionary in Alastair and Cecelia Wilson’s plans for their son’s wedding.

Just decided to stay put, the guy talking right now had then joined their small group. So not too long ago. And for the most part, while conversation happened, the guy had been giving him thin smiles without saying a single word in contribution. Behavior that had him going over his rules on how to react publicly following that article. Knowing anything at all would just be junk food for the tabloids.

When most of the guests with them had moved on, others milling and waiting for a chance to come over, this man had instead come closer. While glancing repeatedly at his right hand. And then he’d stayed close and long enough that it appeared the three of them were in private conversation. So that guests left and others began giving them space.

And that seemed to have been the plan.

With another thin smile, the guy had complimented the music, then began telling them a story about Holden. Just like that. It was obviously meant to be a funny story. But he was telling it in a fucked up way. The way you’d tell a stranger an intimate story about someone you knew, to show off your relationship with that person. With him, Sean, being the stranger. So here the guy was telling a story about how he’d met Holden at some charity event just like this one after the organizers had mixed up their silent auction bids, so that he and Holden had had to spend time in the back room sorting things out and thus missing the entire musical performance.

“So the organizers are completely freaked out over Holden, right? Over having messed up his bed.”

The guy then stopped, interrupting himself, widening his eyes before breaking into a short laugh. 

“Did I just say _bed?_ I meant _bid._ They freaked out over having messed up Holden’s _bid._ Christ,” he said, smiling. “My mind. Anyway, of course Holden was the perfect gentleman, and you know…” here he lowered his voice, “Holden doesn’t really go for classical music anyway.”

The man paused, watching him, and a slow, dimpled smile spread across his face because he’d gotten a reaction from him. A flush was creeping up his neck and he couldn’t stop it.

“The story has a happy ending. We exchanged business cards… and there followed _the_ best two months of my life. No, I’m not even exaggerating. We did some really great charity work together with my photography. I have a foundation as well. Just a small one. And of course, this was all before you came out. So, you know…” Another dimpled smile. “Tonight’s performance just brought it all back, you know?”

From their side, total silence.

Then Craig said, “Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Paxton Greenwood.”

Beyond initially checking Craig’s reaction, he hadn’t been able to move a muscle. Why the fuck did he let this kind of trash talk get so under his fucking skin. He heard all kinds of things on the field, worse now that he was out, and he was able to throw it back or let it slide right off. But these fucking men. And what kind of idiotic satisfaction was this guy getting from this? Two months of dating and he was so fucking proud of himself?

“Thanks, Paxton,” Craig said. “Nice meeting you.”

Paxton smiled one last time and finally left them, telling him to say hi to Holden in case he didn’t run into him tonight. Almost instantly, more guests formed a circle and took Paxton’s place.

—

“ _Who?!_ ” Petey asked incredulously.

Petey was standing stock still, staring at Craig.

“Some guy named Paxton. A photographer for W mag.”

Petey, with whom he’d yet to exchange a complete sentence, or even a look lasting more than a few flustered blinks, turned a full on, astonished look on him.

Petey looked to him like a brown-skinned Ken doll, complete with the jet hair, and was so perfectly formed it seemed he’d been created just to be stared at. On a direct look from him, it felt like reality itself shifted a little, as if a computer generated character had turned from the TV and look directly at you.

And Petey was looking directly at him, but he looked so lit, he wasn’t sure Petey was seeing him and not a pillar of fire or something.

Without waiting for a response from him, Petey turned back to Craig. 

“Where _the fuck_ is he?”

They were in a cloakroom off the main ballroom. A large wooden door was cracked leading to the ballroom, a set of larger double doors on the opposite side leading to what appeared to be a hotel back exit. Craig just shook his head to Petey’s question. And Petey turned and stared into the ballroom through the slightly ajar door.

“Wait, is that him? I know him.”

“Well, that makes it easier.”

Petey turned a hot look on Craig. “ _Fuck_ that. Let’s go talk to him _now._ ”

“All we’ll do is give him a heads up. Better he find out the hard way.”

“I’m for the heads up.”

“Not tonight, Petey. Let’s get Sean out to the car. Holden’s wrapping up with the organizers.”

Talked from the edge, Petey turned back to them, and was suddenly once more trying and failing to look at him, all his fire seeming to have melted instantly. It was like glimpsing a phoenix about to rise and spray fire, only to wrap up and settled back on the ground.

To him, Petey said, “Sean, I’m—” but failing at both speech and eye contact, Petey just turned for the exit across the cloak room. “Please… com— please come with me, Sean,” he said, “the car’s outside,” and then hurriedly exited.

Neither he nor Craig immediately moved.

And then a shadow appeared at the double doors.

“Oh, sorry. I was looking for Sean Jackson. I thought he came in here?”

Craig turned and looked at whomever was on the other side.

They’d brought him through the cloakroom as an alternative exit from the event, and he’d wondered why. But no longer. He’d enjoyed himself tonight—well, mostly—especially since he and Holden had picked up a couple nice items. But there’d been a lot of need to avoid quite a lot of eye contact.

And now there was a guest at the doors, asking for his whereabouts in a tone he was all too familiar with in female fans. Except this was a guy.

“No,” Craig replied, as calmly as you please with him standing just a few feet over. “Check the lobby.”

“Thank you,” the man whispered and left.

Craig looked at him. “All set?”

They couldn’t get out to the car fast enough for him.

Still, he didn’t yet move, wanting to make sure things weren’t about to fall apart over one guy.

“Listen,” he said. “Holden doesn’t hear about this.”

Craig held his gaze. “He’ll hear it from someone. Better it be me.”

Turning to glance at the doors Petey had gone through, he acquiesced with a nod. “But not tonight. And definitely not while we’re still here.”

“Fair enough.”

—

Outside was a side alley to the hotel, where limos and Town Cars were parked along the curb, some with black clad security hanging around them. Their car was right in front of the exit, where Petey was instructing the driver through the lowered passenger window. Craig indicated that he proceed to the car’s open back door, but he shook his head, about to tell him he’d wait for Holden, when the back doors swung opened and Holden strode through, accompanied by Elliot.

Holden stopped by the doors on seeing him, letting his friends continued to the car.

As soon as Petey saw them, Petey straightened from the window and obviously began telling Elliot about the Paxton incident, because Elliot froze, his eyes widening and shooting momentary at the hotel. And from what he could catch, from his repeated and discreet questioning, Petey seemed specifically upset because _he_ might have been upset by the incident.

Facing him in the shadows, feet on either side of his, his arms around his waist, Holden noticed none of it.

“Not too long an evening for you, I hope?”

He shook his head.

“You look crazy hot in this tux.” Holden’s voice was low, stirring him. In the shadows, in this public place, he couldn’t take his eyes off him. A man so beautiful inside and out, holding him like this. His. 

He gave Holden a look. Holden gave it back. “You wanna go home and practice some of our wedding night?” Holden asked.

Before he could respond, his gaze was pulled past Holden to where a guy had walked up to Holden’s friends, still in conference. The guy looked familiar, and because of Paxton his heart thudded so hard it didn’t seem possible that Holden hadn’t felt it. Jesus, if this was some other asshole coming to try his luck, tonight he was absolutely going to dent someone’s backside. 

Sensing him freeze, Holden turned and looked over his shoulder. But Holden didn’t react except to breathe, “Ah, Christ,” and loosen his hold around him. 

He looked again. The guy, who seemed young, more Petey’s age, appeared to be trying to get Petey’s attention, touching and teasing him until Petey simply whipped around and very audibly snapped, “Not now, Bryan!”

He noticed Holden’s lifted eyebrows, a surprised look replicated by both Elliot and Craig. Bryan, whom he still couldn’t place despite the name also ringing a bell, looked more shocked than all three of them combined. Bryan said something, jokingly, to Petey, but Petey only reacted with additional irritation. Then, both hands raised, Bryan mumbled something before finding his way away from there.

Holden tugged him around his waist. “This has officially been too long an evening. Let’s get out of here.”

—

Craig kept his word and didn’t tell Holden about his ex-boyfriend sharing his story. Fuck those guys. He was the one going home with Holden, and he was pretty sure that by the time the summer was over, they’d be the ones wondering how a figment of Holden’s imagination disfavored by both Cecelia and Alastair Wilson, had still managed to beat them all.

—

So it wasn’t until Monday afternoon, about to join Sean for their scheduled lunch with the PR firm his mother had retained, that he found out about Pax.

He stood by his office door, staring at Craig, stunned. 

He couldn’t even find a response, nor anything as tacky in comparison.

“He said that to Sean?”

Craig nodded.

“Has everyone gone insane? And— the best two months of his life? He wasn’t even embarrassed to say that? And it was barely even a month. I think I had…maybe five dates with him? I don’t even know what kind of car he drives. Christ, I don’t even remember breaking up with him. I don’t think I _had_ to. And he’s gonna go after Sean?”

He took a breath, stopping himself., fighting off the feeling of smelling smoke. Almost too afraid to ask, he did anyway.

“How did Sean take it?”

“He was angry.”

He rested his head against the wall. “Jesus,” he whispered, shaking his head.

He was trying to recall details from Saturday night at Sean’s house, whether anything had seemed amiss. But there’d been no undercurrents. They’d fallen asleep together on Sean’s patio after returning from the benefit, and had spent most of Sunday doing very little. Early hours spent going through Marissa’s emails and putting as many checkmarks as they could on tasks, the rest of the day making waffles and ice cream, watching movies, and purging all bad memories from that spare comforter. 

There had been nothing negative from Sean.

Was that good? Was it very bad? Or were they progressing to where Sean really was becoming impervious?

“Are you guys handling—”

“We’re taking care of it,” Craig said.

He dropped the hand massaging his temples. So much for a low-key formal being among the safe places.

He looked over at Craig. Craig had come in as he’d been about to leave and was seated at his center table, elbows on his knees. At one end of the center table, near Craig, were his wedding stacks: their Soirée’s binder, a copy of Soirée’s oversized wedding book, the catalogs for groomswear boutiques. With Craig sitting next to them, it formed a picture of his past and future that seemed solid, unbroken. Incongruent.

But he needed this image broken, and he couldn’t understand why it persisted despite all his efforts.

“The Raven Night gala’s next week, right?” he asked. Craig nodded. “That should be okay,” he said. “Sean’ll enjoy that. It’s really just a big party, so not really a chance to get cornered by one guest on a mission.”

Craig was silent. Then asked, “Did you get the text from Muller, about KV’s house party?”

“Yeah. Meanwhile I’m still stuck on KV bugging Sean at Cavanaugh.”

“Well, KV can only be himself.” After a pause, Craig said, “So do you intend on bringing Sean?”

“Fuck no.”

Craig said nothing.

Then Craig added, “And you still don’t want to sit Sean down and talk to him?”

He shook his head, firmly. Then sighed. “Craig, what the hell am I gonna do about Blake’s?”

Craig shrugged. “We’re gonna go.”

*


End file.
